literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Under the light of the sun and the moon.
Under the light of the sun and the moon, under the glorious clouds and embraced by the gentle mountains, caressed by the softness of the grass that shakes my spirit; I find myself lying down listening to the melodious movement of the powerful air, which, in turn, is always calm. Isn't it beautiful? The shelter of the fantastic world surrounded by the wonder of the simplistic reality that surrounds our lives. Isn't it wonderful? The walk of the human being, the gait of the monkey and the mewing of the cat, the flapping of the wings of the majestic bird and the song of the owl. You only need to observe your environment, you only need to look in all directions and allow yourself to feel perplexed by the beauty of everything that lives and sleeps near us.
By Richard Wilcox6 years ago in Humans
A New Day
This morning was different for Cora, as she walked to her second job at the neighborhood bookstore. Just a few weeks ago, her normal walking route through her neighborhood in Minneapolis was filled with familiar sounds of birds, cars, and pedestrians. Now, the streets are filled with people. People everywhere, stretched for miles. Some businesses still smoldering hot ash from fires set to them by outsiders who attempted to fuel hatred towards her community. Other businesses are mere remnants of their former selves, and now reflect the pain felt by her and so many people.
By Gina Bonelli6 years ago in Humans
Celebration of Life
Mother always told me that your closet is not complete without a little black dress. That is what I was wearing on the very dark night that it happened. To say the night was surreal was like saying the blizzard that was raging outside was a snow flurry. Working as a waitress in a diner prepares one for dealing with all types of people and situations. Tonight, I felt I was in a five-star Michelin restaurant where the chef decided to serve fast food burgers and cold French fries to billionaires.
By Jamie Stewart6 years ago in Humans
Scavengery
Elizabeth examines her sallow complexion in her bathroom mirror, “Vitamin D deficiency and I’m out of toilet paper,” then wraps two bandanas around her face, covers her eyes with dark sunglasses and slips on a pair of yellow rubber cleaning gloves, “Safe, so far.”
By Cindy Matta6 years ago in Humans
Verity
Her own audible sigh is the only human voice she is used to hearing anymore outside of her office building. Anne is lonely. As she unpacks yet another box this thought hits her like finally remembering the word that is on the tip of your tongue. “I’m lonely.” She says out loud. She is not sure how this thought actually makes her feel. It is true, but what else is it? Sad, annoying, empty? 'Well, this is getting dark,' she thinks as she dumps the pile in her hands back into the box she is working on and gets up to make some tea.
By Kylie Rae Ferguson6 years ago in Humans
Sugar Street
For the first time in a long time Nadine couldn’t find the will to get up. Had she been awake for thirty minutes? An hour? She lay in bed, the dim light of streetlamps in the predawn darkness filtering through her bedroom curtains. Her alarm went off; she had it set to a tone of chirping birds, the same sound she’d used for years. It usually made her smile, to hear that excited little tune—a small morning joy of many yet to come.
By Terra Babcock6 years ago in Humans
Blurred Lines
Uhhh, the sun is so bright here. It’s impossible to sleep when all of the windows are only covered with sheer billowy linen. And for some reason it seems to be unspeakable that anyone would actually want to close them. To block out the world for just a moment...the smell of blood is still in my nostrils. They say, whoever they are…, that people don’t dream in color and the idea that one might be able to smell something in a dream is even less fathomable…
By KIMBERLEY W. MASTERS6 years ago in Humans
The Traveller
There isn’t a time that she can remember not dreaming this way. It started the same every night, as she got lost in her slumber, falling deeper into her mind, then just like that, she would end up on that wall, alone always and anticipating the inevitable. The wall was long and its width just wide enough to meet her dimensions. There was darkness all around and the bottom so dark and deep that not even the dim spotlight on her could penetrate the abyss below. Although it was wide enough to hold her, it was an impossible task for her to remain on that wall. There was always a fear of falling off, the imminent fate. The wall neither shook nor shrunk, but yet every night she would meet the same end, falling off that wall into the abyss. And this is how her dreams would begin every night. This night, however, it would begin differently.
By Daphnee Massante6 years ago in Humans
The Pressed Flower Diary
Worn, yellowed pages crackled underneath the pressure of my hands as I clasped the small book tightly. A petite poppy flower was engraved in chipped gold on the cover and I imagined that long elegant fingers had once held the red diary, and traced the tiny engraving. Then, with the most imperceptible of gestures, I tipped the front cover of the aged diary open. Like a butterfly in flight, wings wide and beautiful the pages smiled up at me in all their glory. Pictures, receipts, and pressed flowers peered at me over the edges of the pages, holding their breath and waiting to be rediscovered. It hummed with the promise of untold stories, the music of a kindred spirit’s wonders and adventures.
By Bianca Jeanette6 years ago in Humans
