Finally Friday! 

Happy end of the week y’all! 

Was it just me, or was this week interminable?!




Sometimes you can’t spot change until it’s long over and done, realizing only too late, you had no say. Sometimes change is so brutal and unexpected that is hits you like a sack of bricks in the face. But occasionally, change can politely tap you on the shoulder and whisper in your ear, “I’m at your doorstep. Choice is yours to answer or let me wander on.”

A Raven and A Writing Desk

I need a writing nook. At the very least, I need an actual place to write (type) where there’s no distractions or clutter and I can center my thoughts.

Fun fact: Most of my posts are written (typed) while I’m watching tv on the couch, or on my lunch/breaks at work. Occasionally, they are started on my phone and finished (again on the couch) when I get home.

Right now, I’m in between apartments and living with my mom (I’m totally winning this adulting thing) and all my stuff is cramped into my old bedroom, her spare room/former office, and the garage. A nice, quiet place to write there is not.

Honestly, though, I’m not sure it would be much better if I had my own apartment. If I had a two bedroom or something and I had an actual office maybe, but even when I had my desk set up at my last place I never actually used it. I need a desk set up with a view; looking out a window for reflection or something (can you tell I’ve romanticized writing?).

Hopefully, before the year’s out, I’ll be back in my own place complete with a perfect writing nook.


Poem of the Week | If You Forget Me


I may have dropped the ball this week and by that I mean I totally forgot to pick a Poem of the Week and do any research.

With that in mind, I present to you, If  You Forget Me by Paublo Neruda. I don’t have any history for this or fun facts because, you know, I procrastinated.

I’ll be more prepared next week!


If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.