I've been tangled in the love of reading all my life. It's kept me cool in the summer and warm in the Fall when the leaves turn apple red and the wind bears it's claws. We've had a lot of adventures together, reading and I, and it's been on those mind-bending and path-twisting escapades where I have found myself in extraordinary company.
Why can making a change be so difficult and yet, we all seem to change so much year to year?
Where do you begin when you’re talking about an ending?
I am tired. The night seems to come so early and the cold seeps through the floors. Two cats are my company, but I am alone. I don’t know why those words seem to sting. Perhaps I am still too new to coming home to empty rooms.