I love having a hunch during my read, only to be proven wrong in the end by the author itself. I love being deceived, but only by book plots.
I suddenly miss writing so much. So, let me heal myself for a moment here. I ache about not being able to go home at dusk for a long time. The magic of meeting the sunset when I hop off the bus would be temporarily gone again. Now, when I skip along the street across the villa that I’m in, only Mother moon and her little stars greet me. Not that I loathe the scene. I absolutely love the moon that I am convinced I am her daughter at one point of my life. It’s just that by the time that I step on the welcome mat on our front door, there’s just little time to spend for writing, blogging, reading and my lovely man. And the rainy days are coming. Raindrops at dusk are best. And when they happen, I’d wanted to be in my bedroom.