His eyes never blinked or wavered from mine, encompassing me in a field of control.
His eyes, if anything, gleamed even more bright, having found the treasure he sought.
His eyes forward didn’t deviate from the off-road trail, his chiseled jaw gripped shut during the ride. He didn’t release any sound of explanation until we arrived.
The best art is not always the most popular art, and the most popular art is never truly the best art. The best art is that which is streamed through God. And the worst art is that which is void of Go...
