Caramel and whiskey.

There's something magical about soft, dull, grey drenched days.

You can't help but think that something is about to happen. Any moment now. There's something simmering under the crusts of the earth and it's going to amaze everybody.. Any moment now.

Of course nothing ever really happens.

No zombie will ever crawl towards me as I shuffle miserably to my car after a particularly grueling day at work at 2 am. No army of werewolves will howl at the moon when it looks particularly delicious, all round and golden and beautiful. And no faery will whisper in my ear, luring me to their secret mound where I shall have to resist the temptation of dewdrops and exotic looking food.

I know that Narnia isn't behind a cupboard door, no matter how many times I gleefully try to sneak inside one. I understand that no matter how pretty rose petals look, or how fragrant crushed mint leaves smell - they have no magical property whatsoever, and magic spells don't exist (and anyway, spells need far more exotic ingredients. Rose petals and mint leaves are way too common!). I realize that my car won't speak to me, even if I coax it and name it and coo at it.

Yes. I do read too many books and watch too much TV and replay movies much too often.

But if nothing else, books have taught me that anything and everything is possible. Even if it's just inside my head.

Because I understand that caramel and whiskey is a terrible combination, but the taste that lingers seems to overpower just about everything else.