There are days when I want to write, but the ideas and words have walked away from my brain.

It’s one of those days when I wonder about my life purpose, role on this planet, and life itself. I have always thought of people (and I should probably include other organisms in this thought) as being in small bubbles. My theory is that we bump, merge, and break apart in freedom to float through our lives. I

  “Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home.” -Anonymous.

I should tweak this statement to read, “Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she writes, she is home.”