Bookshelves of Memory

Every second, every minute, every hour, every day,Sweet memories enter your mind, where they are to stay,Each one made of chapters and in those chapters, pages,I choose the cover art, a title, and bind it,Place it in my bookshelf, stash it away. Shutting my eyes, I can visit the shrine,Running my fingers across their creased…


In a world where books are just journeys,Waiting to come true,Crime is just a horror story,Written about you.

Why do Pens have Caps?

I do believe that it isn’t quite fair,
That pens must have caps and nobody cares,
That some may instead want to wear
Hats or beanies or even sombreros,
But you just jam caps onto their brows.


I just read this book called “Beartown” by Fredrik Backman and even though I completely 100% loathed (I am aware that that was redundant) almost everything about it, it is one of the best books I have ever read. I’m definitely not going to go on to explain the book or anything and turn this…


I came across this word a few days ago, and I was curious. In all my life, I have never experienced this wistfulness, this vellichor. This seems a bit strange, because I love old books. Something about the way they’re so worn down yet delicate, how you feel like it’s an old friend that might break…