How perfect it was to greeted by such solemn, grey clouds as I made my way to my car. I took it and held it in, pretending that I was somewhere else as I rounded the corner and quickly snapped out of it when I was nearly an inch away from colliding with a car far nicer than my own. And then the rain came. First as a drizzle, and then as if the flood gates had been forced open.

Like anything I've written in the past few years, it isn't good and it lacks an ending. It came to me while I was driving to work, with Forks in my mind.

This is my life when I begin to live through a book.