Mr. Keating said in Dead Poets Society « Make your lives extraordinary ». Am I missing the bus? What has become of me? Extraordinary always seems to fade out and be replaced by a dull, grey routine. Time does its trick and if you sit in the same spot long enough, it kills the spark in you.
The spark. How I need it now. And how inaccessible it appears. How fugitive. What will revive it? Does a spark need a spark?










