fragments from my daily notebook michelleciani.com

my writing

# more like a sense of being than a place.





{daily fragments}

# what if it were possible?





{daily fragments}

# how long has it been since I last typed a letter? how long has it been? too long.





{daily fragments}

# keep a running note of your voice







{daily fragments}

# I get so many ideas when I sit down to journal!





{daily fragments}

# plot your writing journey: how did you write yourself here?





{daily fragments}

# remember what you know,

# by heart.





{daily fragments}

# cool sand like velvet underfoot, the sky goes pink. The water is burning cold and a gulp of cormorants form a sloppy V above, never directionless.





{daily fragments}

# A gentle whisper woven through words





{daily fragments}

# you have the freedom

# to write





{daily fragments}

# a mug of coffee: a hopeful stance





  {daily fragments}

# What matters is to keep writing, to get it all out, whatever it is — gunk or grace — and leave it here, on this field of words.





{daily fragments}

# even when I doubt, somehow, this notebook will lead me there.





{daily fragments}

# pages rustle, ink flows across lines, steam rises from a cup of tea balanced on top of notebooks.





{daily fragments}

# we quietly retraced our steps and stumbled upon hope.





{daily fragments}

# like sunlight, the words fall slantingly on the page.





{daily fragments}

# I caught a multitude of starlings.





{daily fragments}

# We are always travelling, destination unknown. For as much as we think that we know where we are going, we don’t really know at all. Not for sure. We have an idea, a hope, an inkling. It’s always an exploration.





{daily fragments}

# enveloped by the walls of an ancient empire, a canyon of cooked clay and marble.





{daily fragments}

# i bathed in monuments and metaphors and I became whole.





{daily fragments}

# random bits i write

# (or: somewhere this connects, somehow)





{daily fragments}

# the sound of my pen running across paper

# the rhythm of my hand forming letters

# words of meaning to myself.





{daily fragments}

# the simplicity of brown eggs wrapped in parchment paper, a package tied with twine, lost notes found within the pages of your book.





{daily fragments}

# so here I am, openly writing to myself.





{daily fragments}

# evidence of this life I am living.





{daily fragments}

# I want to love it, allow it, let it blossom; whatever it is that emerges from this page.





{daily fragments}

# She wanted to give me something — did I want a notebook, maybe?  Como a ti te gusta escribir...





{daily fragments}

# I can fall in love with almost anywhere.





{daily fragments}