My Head Is a Construction Site
My head is overflowing.
Really.
My head is a construction site.
It never stops.
Journal of the Atelier
A space to speak what doesn’t fit into narratives.
A writing journal. An open workshop.
Notes, impulses, doubts — and perhaps, in these pages, stories waiting to be born.
Doubts and Certainties
Today I am tired.
Not only physically.
Tired of hoping.
I look at my site.
Ten visits.
Sometimes less.
When the Room Is Empty
I haven’t been sleeping well lately.
I go to bed late.
I write late.
I think too much.
I look at the numbers.
They are small.
They make more noise in my head than they should.
O, Like an Imprint
Read too young, perhaps.
A summer afternoon, a thunderstorm, no television.
A raging ocean outside.
A dusty old trunk of books, alone in my grandmother’s attic, waiting for the moment I could return to the beach.