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Pillow Thoughts II: Healing the Heart

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Thank you to Andrews McMeel Publishing for sending me an ARC to review. All thoughts and opinions are my own.* I really have to say that the 2 and 3 part where cute and lovely but please don’t read the first one if you are mentally not that stabled. To summarize everything, Pillow Thoughts is a portfolio of generic content framed using totally obsolete structures. Structurally, it’s atrocious. Lyrically, it’s atrocious. Stylistically, it’s atrocious. Perhaps the only remotely positive thing I can say is that I am incredibly blessed to have received only a digital copy of this book; otherwise, had I been given a physical copy, I would have grieved for the trees that died and ultimately lost my shit altogether. That’s all we are, aren’t we, just souls who are sometimes kind and sometimes cruel and almost always complicated.”

Chicago I’m in Chicago and you’re at home, how can we be so in love and yet so alone? It’s been so hard, how many more days must we be apart? All the nerves in my heart, wondering if things have changed, All the time apart, wondering if we’ll still be the same. I’m in Chicago and you’re at home, and I’m watching life pass. I miss you when I am alone. Full disclosure: I was supposed to participate in a promotional blog tour for this book, which is why I received a copy of it. However, as evidenced by my star rating, I most certainly did not enjoy reading it, and as such, I decided to forfeit my spot in the tour. Still, many thanks to the blog tour organizer for providing a review copy. Of all the tragedies on this earth, there is none more tragic than a person who cannot see their worth.It’s 3am and I am lying alone Because you just hung up the phone We’ve spent half the night arguing Because you’re there and I’m here But what else can we do I guess this is growing up When things don’t work out And you fight to hold on Until you realise that sometimes The only thing you have Is to keep moving on We get older and suddenly what we cannot have becomes just what is. Less becomes plenty and time is a fragment of our short adventure on earth." They say if you practice something again and again you will become good at it. So why, if you tell yourself everyday that you are capable, do you not believe it?"

Here is to tomorrow, bringing us one day closer to each other, until the day arrives that we meet again. Midnight weighs heavy on my soul as the earth folds into itself, every fold bringing us closer together. It will start with the big things, like their seat next to you at the family dinner table on Sunday evenings or their name next to yours on invitations. And then suddenly all the little things will fade too. You won’t remember the sound of their voice in the morning or how their hand felt in yours. You won’t remember all the tiny details of every date you had or all the conversations you shared late at night. And then one day someone will ask you their favourite colour, and you’ll hesitate. Who made you feel this way Like your heart’s too heavy And all its soft parts Are gone? Who made you feel Like this toxic thing Like no one Wants you And you don’t belong? Who made you feel Like your scars Aren’t beautiful And your baggage Isn’t worth carrying? Who made you feel Like you don’t Deserve everything And you aren’t Someone worth keeping? Just tell me where It all went wrong So I can make you feel Like you really belong The poems are sorted in groups I'd call chapters, but maybe there is a fancy term I don't know, but those are introduced by illustrations of a jellyfish and an owl, a combination I would never have thought of but that works quite well. Also, I like owls a lot, which is a plus. Some of the poems were too straight forward for my taste and I was not a fan of all of them. This was actually my only main problem the whole time I was reading it. But there were ones that really touched me (like, seriously, they touched my heart. . . literally one tear drop down my eye type) and I liked how the poems are not just thrown together and there is actually some find of flow to it in each section if you pay attention to it enough. A lot are pretty much related in a way. If ever the reader gets to reading everything.The words are melting in my mouth like snow and I feel like I’m running on empty, but there are only 17 more days until you’re home. I have dreamt every night of the morning we are together again. You will be drinking coffee and I will be talking about how the leaves are changing. In your absence I can barely speak a word, but soon you will be home, and I will watch the leaves until we are together again. Pillow Thoughts is a collection of poetry and prose about heartbreak, love and raw emotions. It is divided into sections to read when you feel you need them most. Make a cup of tea and let yourself feel. Pillow Thoughts by Courtney Peppernell – eBook Details I keep wondering how sad do I have to be for someone to stop insisting everything is going to be fine?

It felt as if the author was talking directly to me, as if she was sharing her thoughts with me in a very private manner, which of course every author does, but you don't get an intimate feeling every time you read a book. You won’t remember, they say, when someone drifts away. One minute you are talking about life’s greatest adventures and listening to mixtapes on Monday afternoons, and the next their presence is replaced with silence: a fragile nonexistence with nothing else to lose. But I will always remember our drift. It took up all this space, like a planet with many moons. It was the year you forgot my birthday.Pillow Thoughts is a book similar to Milk and Honey and The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur. I read both of Kaur’s books and wasn’t the biggest fan (I rated them 3.5 and 3 stars), so it was a bit risky for me to choose a poetry and prose collection in the same style. And I’ll cut right to the chase: I didn’t care that much for Pillow Thoughts either. Truth be told, I can probably go on and on about how mediocre and embarrassing this literary monstrosity is because God knows I never thought I’d ever find a poetry book that I would end up loathing more than the collections written by Lang Leav. However, there are much more important things for me to accomplish than to waste so many words on a book that shouldn’t even warrant any positive attention.

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