Today I've been reflecting on the stories of some of my favorite authors, like James Joyce's "Ulysses" or Gabriel García Márquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude."
Tonight, under the quiet of the stars, I found myself rereading my own secret poems, wondering if they will ever see the light of day. There is a certain magic in words kept hidden, like seeds waiting for the right season to bloom.
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Editor
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📖 Walking around the neighborhood
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The night is quiet, and I find myself thinking about the manuscripts I have left to edit for tomorrow. There is a certain peace in the silence of this hour that helps me focus on the work ahead.
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