Books, Bards & Baselines

You had me at “We were both young when I first saw you.”
I mean… come on. A single sentence and I was swept into a glittery school dance I’d never attended, heart pounding for a boy I’d never met. I didn’t even like country music at the time—but Taylor made it feel like a fairy tale written in the margins just for me.
That was the day I realized that music could tell stories, that four minutes could hold a novel’s worth of longing. “Love Story” wasn’t just a song—it was a soft opening of the door to something I’ve never stopped running toward. (Also, shoutout to 2008 me and that clunky little MP3 player I thought was the height of sophistication.)

You had me at “It is a truth universally acknowledged…”
The sheer elegance. The boldness. The wink. Jane Austen doesn’t ask for your attention—she simply begins. And the line is so good, you surrender immediately. That’s when I started noticing the power of first sentences. The confidence. The voice.
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”
“Call me Ishmael.”
“I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.”
These aren’t just openings—they’re handshakes, dare-you-to-read-ons, love letters to curiosity. A good first line doesn't just pull you in. It invites you to stay.

You had me at the library.
Technically, you had me at the returns desk. You, with that slightly crooked smile, that perfect eyeliner, and a stack of overdue philosophy books like it was a personality trait. I think I said something wildly flirtatious like, “You’ve got a lot of fines.” (Smooth, right?) And you, without missing a beat, said, “I’m worth it.”
Reader, I married her.
We were both pretending to be casual, but let’s be real—we were orbiting. Me shelving books I’d already read just to loiter nearby. You checking out yet another existential tome with a grin that said, what if I’m the plot twist?
I still remember dropping a stack of poetry books and muttering, “Well, that’s a metaphor,” and your laugh? Immediate main-character energy.
We’ve been writing our story ever since—side by side, spine to spine, chapter by chapter. And it all started with a late return and a perfectly timed quip.

You had me at love on a hard court.
The thwack of racket against ball, the squeak of sneakers on sun-warmed clay, the impossible beauty of a down-the-line winner hit on the run. Tennis is ballet in motion, chess in real time, and pure emotional theater.
You had me at Sabalenka’s fierce roar, at Alcaraz’s sunshine grin, at Sinner’s elegant calm. At the hush before a serve, the sudden intake of breath in a tie-break, the final ace that seals a miracle comeback.
Tennis isn’t just a sport—it’s a language of effort and instinct, of heartbreak and joy. And somewhere in the middle of a third-set rally that lasts twelve shots, something inside you says: this is love.

So yes—you had me at…
At every lyric that knew my heart before I did.
At every sentence that opened the door to a new world.
At every borrowed book, every shared glance over the top of a hardcover.
At every match point, every midnight rewatch, every athlete who made me feel something.

"You had me at hello" is cute.
But honestly?
You had me at yellow. ☀️

 There’s something magical about cracking open a book you already know by heart.

Maybe it’s the way the spine sighs in recognition, or the moment your fingers find that dog-eared page like an old friend. Maybe it’s how the story hits differently this time—because you’re a little different, too.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the beauty of re-reading lately. Not because I’ve run out of new books (ha! imagine!), but because there's a particular kind of comfort that comes with revisiting a story that already knows you. It’s like slipping into your comfiest sweater, or hearing your favorite song on a day when everything feels a little too loud.

Some people see re-reading as redundant. “There are so many books in the world! Why waste time on one you’ve already read?” they cry, dramatically, probably while standing in front of a teetering TBR pile. But for me, that’s missing the point. Re-reading isn’t about chasing novelty. It’s about depth. It’s about noticing the small things—the foreshadowing you missed, the way a character’s arc quietly parallels your own, the sentences that didn’t strike you before but now feel like tiny revelations.

Also? Sometimes you just want to re-live the moments that made you feel something big and beautiful. The gasp. The swoon. The oh no they didn’t. The quiet tear sliding down your cheek at 2AM because a line broke your heart in the best possible way.

And let’s not forget how re-reading can be its own kind of time travel. You’re not just going back to a book—you’re going back to you. Who you were when you first read it. What you were feeling. What you needed from the story, and how it gave it to you (or didn’t).

Right now, I’ve got a few beloveds calling my name from the shelf. Books I know I’ll fall into like a soft bed. Some are childhood favorites, some are more recent loves. All of them are ready to meet me again.

📚 Currently re-reading: The Incredible Human Journey by Alice Roberts
📚 On my June re-read list: The Lightning Thief (hello again, Percy!) and Pride & Prejudice (because Lizzy and Darcy never go out of style)

So tell me—what do you love about re-reading? Do you have a book you return to like a touchstone? Or one that surprised you on the second go-round?

Let’s romanticize the reread. Let’s reclaim the joy of stories that stay with us.

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 It’s the first of June, and I thought it’d be fun to kick off the month with a little round-up of what I’m currently into. Think of this as a warm cup of tea between friends, where I gush about the things that are bringing me joy, curiosity, or just a welcome distraction.

So, here we go:

🎾 Tennis, Always Tennis
The clay court season has completely taken over my brain (and calendar). I’m obsessively watching matches and refreshing scoreboards. Jannik Sinner’s footwork? Poetry. Jasmine Paolini is thriving, and Aryna Sabalenka’s fierce energy is unmatched. And honestly, Juan Carlos Ferrero and Simone Vagnozzi deserve awards for coach vibes alone.

📚 Reading: A Bit of Myth, A Lot of Curiosity
I’ve got a delightfully chaotic stack going right now:
– The Incredible Human Journey by Alice Roberts is scratching that big-picture, deep-time itch.
– The Midnight Library by Matt Haig is existential in a cozy way (how does he do that?).
– A Bitter Remedy by Alis Hawkins is giving me dark academia vibes with bite.
– And I’m rereading Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief because apparently I needed a dose of snarky demigod nostalgia. Zero regrets.

🎶 Music: Taylor Swift Era (Again!)
I’m celebrating Taylor Swift getting her masters back by revisiting Debut and Reputation—and wow, it’s been years. Listening to those albums feels like opening a time capsule. “Tim McGraw” still makes me emotional, and “Don’t Blame Me” hits so differently now. Honestly, this has turned into a full-on Swiftie renaissance.

🧠 ADHD Life
Timers, body doubling, and Pomodoro sessions are my current coping mechanisms of choice. I’m learning to honour my rhythms instead of battling them, and it feels like progress. Tiny systems, big difference.

🍝 Cooking
I made pasta from scratch and felt like I unlocked a new level of adulthood. Also, I’m firmly in my “add lemon to everything” era and have zero plans to stop.

🌱 In the Garden
Tomatoes! Everywhere! I planted three varieties and I think they’re planning a coup. The bees are loving the lavender, and I’m trying (and failing) to keep the mint from taking over the planet.

🎨 Little Joys
Journaling with stickers and washi tape, slow-art TikToks that make me want to paint something (but then I just... watch another TikTok), and writing blog posts with coffee in hand. It's the quiet rituals that are anchoring me lately.

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That’s where I’m at. What about you? What are you currently into? Let’s swap obsessions 💫

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