Crosswords, historical fiction novels, reading glasses, coffee and music.


Empty page, waiting for my thoughts and my emotions to be documented.


Missed flights, empty hotel rooms and drinks left on the bar.


Subterranean train rides, smart phones, broken promises, empty evening sleeps, dreams dropped on the sidewalk, tears suppressed and dried, turned to salt.


Statues, postcards and journal entries. Missed phone calls, self solitary confinement.
Sunday evening blues turn my eyes red and numb any emotion for fear of truth.

Words written never read, still words I have written and I will read.