Reading

  • Words

    Words roll in and out of me like breath. I can’t imagine not reading and writing, just as I can’t imagine what it might be like never to breathe again. Sometimes the words I write make no sense to me,… Continue reading

  • Books Vs Social Media

    I’m reading again. I’m reading a lot, actually. My goodness, it’s all the lovely things. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to read for all the years books went missing from my life. I blamed it on the quick and… Continue reading

  • It’s Not A Problem

    If you’re a reader, you are about to read a blog post which will echo through the pits of your soul. It’s not a problem, we all know this. But whenever us readers are faced with this sort of conundrum,… Continue reading

  • The Adventures Of A Hungry Girl

    My glasses are shining back at me from the library window. In hindsight, I should have eaten. Actual lunch I mean, not just the Honey and Date Loaf that quite accidentally fell into my belly at around lunchtime today. I… Continue reading

  • The Soft Girl and The Book

    The brownie is delicious. The coffee is fine. And, for the first time in a good little while, I am at a cafe, sinking into a booth seat, quietly reflecting on the peace of it all. I’m the soft girl… Continue reading

  • The Bright Side

    I’m a bright side girl, most days. It’s the essence of me, I suppose; joy, love and all the sunny days, enough of all three to make a bright side girl thrive. The thing is— I’m not thriving. These days,… Continue reading

  • The Sun Chair

    It’s Saturday morning and I’m lazing in the sun chair. I always make my way back to this place, this little corner of my world that feeds me so beautifully to the sun. It’s a place for just ‘being’, this… Continue reading

  • Some Kind of Magic

    It’s some kind of magic that you and you and you will read these words and think and feel and be something different than you were before you read them. Continue reading

  • The Happy Driver

    Arki was a taxi driver, but in his heart he was a writer. He knew he was a writer because the words never stopped racing in his mind until they were out. Neither did the joyous feeling they stirred in… Continue reading

  • Tonight

    On the sixth day of Christmas, I craved a feeling. A specific feeling, really. I craved a couch. And a book. And me. All of us rolled up together, where nothing and no one could find us. It’s not like I… Continue reading