Love
Melodies of love đź’•
Once upon a time in a quaint little town, there lived a young couple named Sarah and James. Sarah was an aspiring artist with a heart as colorful as her paintings, while James was a kind-hearted musician who could serenade the birds with his melodies.
By Coco_girlie2 years ago in Fiction
Small Business Saga
Chapter 1: The Humble Beginning Anya was a fantasist and had that wonderful paradigm in her eyes alongside longing sinew. She also loved to cook, and her friends and family enjoyed tasting it. It was her holy ground; each recipe was a mad scientist concoction producing sweet confections that dissipated in the mouth.
By Iftikhar Akram2 years ago in Fiction
The Art of Loving: Lessons I’ve Learned from Loving You
Loving someone is an art—a craft that requires patience, understanding, and a willingness to grow. Over time, as we navigate the twists and turns of life together, I’ve come to realize that love isn’t just something we feel; it’s something we learn and refine, like a painter perfecting a masterpiece. Here are the lessons I’ve learned from loving you, lessons that have not only deepened our connection but also taught me more about myself.
By Subhasri Devaraj2 years ago in Fiction
The Sound of Silence
Maya sat on the edge of her bed, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the room. In her hands, she held a photograph, its edges worn from the countless times she had traced them, as if trying to capture the feelings from that moment. The image was one of joy—Daniel’s arm draped over her shoulders, his face close to hers, both of them beaming. It was taken on their first trip together, a time when everything seemed perfect, when love was a warm blanket that shielded them from the world’s harsh realities.
By Sodiq Ajala2 years ago in Fiction
You left
You left me. Lonely. Scared. A child who is only safe holding your hand and you let her go in the deep night, get lost in fear. I see our memories every time I close my eyes as if I’m walking bare feet on sharp glass. I still see your face in my selfies, holding my shoulders, your smile lightening the picture. The night that I now am forced to endure alone is sad, scary, foreign to me, different from the night I am used to. The night we walked hand in hand. The night we shared ice cream cones. The night filled with laughter echoing through the heavy trees. Now the trees are bare and the stars don’t shine. The moon is naked, unable to keep me safe. The person who was used to cry in your arms about the harsh nights is now crying in the arms of the moon about your absence.
By Marina Beshara2 years ago in Fiction
