Love

"When the Leaves Fall"
The first time Elias saw Lillian, autumn leaves danced around her like a golden halo. She was sitting on a park bench, sketchbook in hand, oblivious to the world. He almost walked past her, but something—maybe fate—made him stop.
By Najrin 2 years ago in Fiction
The Train We Never Took
The station smelled of wet concrete and nostalgia. The rain drizzled softly outside, its rhythm matching the erratic beat of my heart. I stood near the edge of the platform, hands in my pockets, watching the trains come and go.
By Mirhadi Tahsin2 years ago in Fiction
YOUR TIME OR MINE
YOUR TIME OF MINE a letter through time “”” “”” “”” My Dearest Edward, My goodness! I hope you don’t mind me calling you Edward, after all, we’ve never met.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
Like Letters Written in the Sand Part Twenty
Clarence learned early on that Anna-lei’s safe place was the beach, and he would do anything to make her happy. After all she had gone through, she deserved to know joy.
By Michelle Renee Kidwell2 years ago in Fiction
To Write
Sometimes I get gripped by what feels like a manic desire to sit down and write, just like the desire to purge my closet of clothes that I don't wear anymore (they aren't taking up an unreasonable amount of space; I don't like the thought of them being in there if they're not being worn), or the need to suddenly throw open all the drawers of our bathroom cabinet and organize (top drawer, daily medications and products; second drawer, hair care; third drawer, travel bottles; last drawer, pads and tampons), or the urge to start meal planning for the entire week (usually can only make it to Wednesday; Thursday, if we're feeling really ambitious). I tell myself that writing is cathartic, that I have a strong ability to get my thoughts across in written words more easily than if I'm speaking (which isn't always the case; I am very eloquent in the moment, particularly when I am speaking passionately, but when I have to repeat those thoughts later on, it seems like the message loses its verve), and that what I think is worth writing down, but it always seems like I spend more time rereading what I've written and then changing it because I think whoever else might read it (someone who isn't me) might think that I'm trying too hard to create a unique style, or to grab with a particularly attention-seeking opener, and that just feels downright cringy. The goal isn't to wow, it's to tell.
By AC2 years ago in Fiction
Empathy and the Power of Love
Empathetic love is a concept most will not be familiar with yet will understand regardless. Comprehending others in life is a natural aspect of everyday living. To move forward is to understand, on a larger scale, the world. Once the world is relatively understood, the easier it is to keep on track. By keeping on track, an ever-adjusted goal is usually put in place to continue the constant march forward.
By Arthur Chapman2 years ago in Fiction
FEBRUARY - 1963. Top Story - February 2025.
February -, 1963 My dearest Meg, I know you’re wondering why I didn’t date this letter. There’s a good reason for that I’m hoping you’ll be reading this by Valentine’s Day but knowing how slow the mail moves around here, there’s no way to be sure. I wish I was there to take you to a fancy restaurant, buy you a box of chocolates, and a very large bouquet of red roses. My, wonderful, darling, Meg, I miss you so much.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
Random Scribble
The worst thing about time is that if flows swiftly enough to seem still, and so, when you're glad to have someone, you feel that feeling will last, but it doesn't, and when you are glooming and think this too will not stay, it does,And I think of the two “acts of time”, I have seen both,
By KSR2 years ago in Fiction
Love in the Shadows
Chapter 1: The Mysterious Encounter Aarav was never one for love stories. As a skilled hacker and part-time stand-up comedian, his life was already a weird mix of chaos and humor. But everything changed when he met Zoya.
By zaibali2 years ago in Fiction
Love in the Time of Wrestling
Combat Women's Wrestling had been in business for 14 years, and one of the promotion's big stars was Lena Pierce, nicknamed "The Iron Maiden" for her strong resolve. She had been wrestling for five years and boasted an impressive record in the ring, and had appeared to have seen it all in her time in the ring, until about a month ago.
By Clyde E. Dawkins2 years ago in Fiction
Toxic
Here he goes again. He hitches his waist band up over his rolls of flab, and does a hiccup that turns into a sour burp. Probably shouldn't have had that last few pints. He scratches his armpit, snatches up his bow, and stumbles out into the grey and gloomy street. It's colder than it normally is at this time of year. Spring is taking her sweet time. No one is really in the mood for love. They're hardly in the mood for sex. This isn't the romantic chill of midwinter. There's no snow, no dramatic storms. People aren't leaning into the skid with cute sweaters and sturdy mugs of hot chocolate. Fairy lights and mulled wine feel like they happened a very long time ago, in another life. One touched by magic, where frost crunches underfoot, and the chill brings a comely blush to smiling faces.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Un-Valentine Me
The Lamia girls were busy discussing their plans for Valentine’s Day in the coffee shop. They were too deep into their talk to pay attention to the other customers around them. Therefore, none of them noticed the smartly-clad young man enter the shop and walk over to their table until he cleared his throat. Looking up at him, they all groaned aloud upon seeing him.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction