My books, my great friends, gaze down on me with quiet resentment, calling me to them. - Anna Margolin

She looked at me and yet she did not see me.

Reality and dreams are weaving together, flowing into each other and I don't know where one ends and the other begins.

Above is a patch of sky, but this has already turned grey, cold and deeply calm. Slowly, slowly, as though embarrassed, long, soft, dark shadows crawl in through the open window, stealing their way into the room, growing bold, and making themselves comfortable in every corner.