BOOK: #BookOfThoughts

€30.00

Quantity

This book is in English

#BookOfThoughts. A story not told — but felt.

This is not a novel.

This is not a diary.

This is something in between — a raw, honest, unfiltered collection of thoughts that have accompanied a woman through darkness, light, and everything in between.

#BookOfThoughts is a deeply personal journey across time, memory, and self-discovery. Each page holds a fragment — a quote, a realization, a whispered truth written in the margins of life. Some are light as morning. Others — heavy like silence. Together, they form a mosaic of a soul that has broken, healed, and learned to love itself fully — not despite, but because of its imperfections.

From forgotten notebooks to a book you’ll return to

Some thoughts in this book were rescued from dusty pages written long ago — rediscovered like long-lost pieces of self. Others came recently, unannounced, in passing moments — on airplanes, in cars, at work, or on holiday.

Each one is real.

Each one is needed — like air, like water, like love.

What will you find inside?

Thoughts that comfort, challenge, and reveal
Moments of pain and grace, equally welcomed
Reflections on womanhood, self-acceptance, imperfection, growth
A voice that is quiet, but never afraid
A call to feel, not just to read

This is a book to come back to — on the days when your heart is full, and especially on the days when it isn’t. It doesn’t ask you to be anything but human.

You are invited. To open this book is to step into a world of obsessions and angels, of quiet victories and loud fears. It is an offering — from one woman’s truth to your own.

Pick it up. Read it slowly. Or all at once. Let it sit on your shelf or travel in your bag. Let it breathe with you. Because maybe, in someone else’s thoughts, you’ll meet your own.

ISBN 978-1-326-81238-6

Imprint: Lulu.com

FREE PREVIEW

I sit in my regular cafe at my regular table. A cup of Greek coffee on the table as usual. The morning sun sends her kisses to the ground, all you have to do is to catch them. They kiss my skin, colouring it in summer colours and shades.

I sit and wait. Usually, he used to pass the cafe at the same time each day. An old man and his little dog, who constantly fiddled in the shade of the old man. I used to look at him and the same lines from Ernest Hemingway's book always flashed before my eyes.

“The old man was thin and restrained, with a neck riddled with deep folds...”

“His shirt was no less flabby than a sail, and the patches faded from the sun with uneven spots.”

They used to walk along the prom in one direction, and after a while, they slowly walked back, each time in sync. The slow steps of the hunched old man and the jog trot of his dog in his shadow.

I used to sit in the cafe and wait for them every morning. They never looked around, as if there was nothing around them. Just a big wide sea, a boat, and fish, as in Ernest Hemingway's book ‘The Old Man and the Sea’. The old man and his dog. Morning. Seaside, and time which seemed to stop around them. I watched them from the cafe table and asked myself in the old man's words.

“Happiness comes to man in various forms, and who can know it?”

We often don't recognise happiness. I don't know if the old man was happy or not. I don't know the story of his life. I don't know who he was, what his name was or even what kind of person he was. My happiness was to watch him walk slowly along the promenade. He never turned his head and never noticed me, but I watched him for several years. Every time I sat down in the same cafe at the table and took my morning cup of coffee into my hands, I waited for his trip along the seashore. I waited for the old man and his dog.

He no longer walks along the promenade. Neither him nor his dog. I sit in the same cafe and drink the same coffee, and for some reason, I continue to wait. I know he won't come. He didn't come last year, though I waited all week. He didn't come yesterday. He will not come today, and he will not come tomorrow.

I do not know his fate. I will never know. But this coast, this cafe and this morning cup of coffee will constantly bring me memories of the old man and his dog.

With a sip of strong Greek coffee, another words from Ernest Hemingway's book pop into my mind.

“My alarm clock is old age. Why do you get up so early? Is it because you want to extend this day?”

For some reason, looking at that blue sea, at the people walking along the promenade, I would like to see him again - the old man and his dog. They are a symbol of my Summer - I watched them, waited for them and admired them in my own way. I miss that harmony between the old man and his dog's morning walk because my morning coffee is not the same without them. It seems that my morning coffee that one week in the year lost its taste without that harmony. It seems that its aroma faded in the rising Cretan sun. It seems that losing that harmony, the taste of my morning coffee was carried away by a mischievous northern wind.

The old man and his dog. The sea. The promenade. The aroma of Greek coffee. And a lost sirtaki note flying from somewhere far away...

REVIEW: This book is a piece of written heaven with a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning. It's not a book to sit down and read in one sitting - you will read a few pages and come back to it later because that is how this book should be enjoyed. Each piece within the book fills you with it's own emotions and feelings that you'll want to think about and explore. It is the perfect book for the reader who wants to find the beauty in ordinary things, as the author does. An excellent an insightful read.