Comfort Reads & Coffee Sips

Sweetbitter is like that chaotic, blurry chapter of your early 20s—when everything feels raw, intense, and a little romantic even when it’s a mess. It’s about tasting things for the first time—food, love, heartbreak, freedom—and figuring out who you are while barely keeping it together. If you’ve ever moved to a new city chasing something bigger (or just trying to feel something real), this book will feel way too familiar.

Post-Traumatic is sharp, unfiltered, and painfully real—it dives into what it’s like to live with trauma while trying to look like you’ve got it all together. It’s about survival, identity, and that exhausting dance of being “fine” on the outside when you’re unraveling inside. Darkly funny and deeply vulnerable, this one hits hard if you’ve ever tried to heal while still in survival mode.

City of Girls is like stepping into a glittering, messy coming-of-age story told with zero shame and all the flair. It’s about sex, mistakes, independence, and the wild freedom of figuring yourself out in 1940s NYC. Vivian’s voice is honest, hilarious, and refreshingly unapologetic—a reminder that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth living out loud.

Just Kids feels like flipping through a photo album of a beautifully chaotic era—gritty, dreamy, and full of heart. Patti Smith’s storytelling is raw and poetic, capturing her bond with Robert Mapplethorpe and the magic of being young, broke, and wildly creative in NYC. It’s about art, love, loss, and finding your voice—even when the world feels uncertain. A love letter to becoming.

The Great Gatsby is that timeless reminder that chasing the dream doesn’t always mean finding happiness. It’s glitter, heartbreak, and longing wrapped in 1920s glam. Behind all the parties and champagne is a story about obsession, identity, and trying to rewrite the past. If you’ve ever wanted something so badly it hurt—you’ll get Gatsby.

It’s giving “I’m not okay but also don’t talk to me” energy. My Year of Rest and Relaxation is dark, weirdly funny, and painfully relatable if you've ever wanted to check out from life and just... sleep through the chaos. It’s about numbness, detachment, and the strange hope that maybe doing nothing at all might fix everything. A wild ride through apathy, privilege, and the edge of a breakdown.

This one hits deep in all the quiet, complicated ways—Bellies is a beautifully honest look at love, identity, and how we change (and sometimes don’t) with the people we grow up beside. It’s about bodies, transitions, and the ache of wanting to be seen for who you really are. Tender, raw, and so real.

Talking at Night feels like that one love you never quite shake—the kind that lingers in the silence, in the what-ifs, in every chapter of growing up. It’s tender, frustrating, and painfully beautiful. A slow-burn story about timing, longing, and all the words we never say out loud… until it’s too late or just right.

This book gets under your skin in the most honest way. It’s raw, messy, and achingly real—like someone cracked open the thoughts we’re too scared to say out loud. Something Bad Is Going to Happen captures the weight of mental health, loneliness, and trying to hold it all together when everything feels like it might fall apart. It’s not just a story—it’s a gut-punch of truth.

This one wrecks you in the most poetic way. It’s tender, tragic, and so beautifully written you almost forget it’s a Greek myth. Patroclus and Achilles will live rent-free in your heart—because it’s not just a war story, it’s a love story. One that reminds you how fiercely and painfully we can love, even when fate has other plans.

It’s the book that makes you whisper “ugh, these two” every few pages—Normal People is messy, intimate, and so real it almost hurts. Connell and Marianne’s love feels like a loop you’ve lived through: timing never quite right, emotions too big, communication just out of reach. It’s not a fairytale—it’s the kind of story that lingers because it feels like life.

This isn’t just a book about video games—it’s about love, friendship, ambition, and the unspoken stuff that binds people together (and sometimes pulls them apart). Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow captures what it means to create something with someone you care about, and how complicated, beautiful, and heartbreaking that can be. It’s nostalgic, nerdy, and unexpectedly emotional—in the best way.

A Little Life is one of those books that completely wrecks you—in the most beautiful, brutal way. It starts off feeling like a story about friendship and ambition in New York City… then quietly pulls you into something much deeper, darker, and painfully human. The characters feel real, like you’ve known them forever. Jude will break your heart in ways you didn’t expect, and honestly, some chapters are so heavy you’ll need to take a breather. It’s not an easy read, but it is unforgettable. It’s one of those books you think about long after you’ve closed it. If you’re emotionally ready and want a story that’ll sit with you for a while—this is it.

Sunset is raw, messy, and unexpectedly tender—just like real grief. It follows two sisters with a complicated bond, and when tragedy strikes, it doesn’t shy away from the ugly, uncomfortable emotions that come with it. Jessie Cave’s writing feels personal, like reading someone’s unfiltered thoughts. It’s not overly polished, but that’s kind of the point—it hits you with its honesty. Some parts are quietly devastating, others darkly funny, and somehow it all works. If you’ve ever lost someone or had a love-hate sibling relationship, this one will hit close. It’s a quiet gut punch—but one that feels weirdly comforting too.

Betty is one of those books that crawls under your skin and stays there. It’s beautifully written, heartbreakingly real, and full of raw emotion. You follow Betty, a young girl growing up in rural Ohio, as she navigates trauma, identity, racism, family secrets, and the fierce love between her and her Cherokee father. The storytelling is poetic but gut-wrenching. Some chapters are hard to read—not because of the writing, but because of how deeply it makes you feel. Betty’s strength and voice will stay with you long after the last page. It’s not a light read, but it’s absolutely worth it. If you want a story that’s powerful, painful, and full of soul—this is it.

All the Ugly and Wonderful Things is complicated, bold, and completely unshakeable. It’s the kind of book that makes you uncomfortable, challenges your perspective, and still finds a way to break your heart in slow motion. Told through multiple points of view, it follows Wavy—a girl growing up in chaos—and her relationship with Kellen, a man who doesn’t fit into society’s boxes. It’s messy, morally gray, and not for everyone. But if you can sit with the discomfort, you’ll find a story that’s strangely tender and painfully human. This book doesn’t ask you to agree—it just asks you to listen. And somehow, in all the darkness, there’s love, resilience, and a kind of beauty that’s hard to explain. Definitely one of those “I need to process this” reads.

Bodies of Light is heavy, haunting, and incredibly powerful. It follows Maggie’s life through trauma, foster care, loss, and survival—not in a dramatic, plot-driven way, but with quiet intensity that builds and builds. Jennifer Down’s writing is restrained but devastating. She doesn’t spoon-feed emotion; instead, you feel it in the silence, the in-betweens, the small details that say everything. Maggie’s story is painful, but also filled with moments of resilience and aching humanity. It’s not an easy read—and it’s not meant to be. But if you're looking for something that stays with you long after you finish, Bodies of Light is unforgettable. A slow burn that hits deep.

Sunbathing is soft, introspective, and quietly heartbreaking. It follows a woman grieving the loss of her father as she spends time in the Italian countryside with friends. Not much happens plot-wise, but emotionally? It hits. Isobel Beech’s writing is delicate and observant—like sitting with someone who understands that grief isn’t loud, it’s slow and lingering. There’s a warmth to it too, like healing in sunlight, with moments of stillness that feel incredibly real. It’s the kind of book you read when you’re in your feelings, needing something gentle but honest. Nothing overdone—just raw, human, and beautifully restrained.