literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Island Where They Leave Them
Her soul was doing cartwheels again, like it had before, like it had on that clifftop in the moonlight when everything was ending and beginning again. When she had watched the flutter of white descend, as though in slow-motion, and embrace the wild waves below. When she had watched the tiny raft disappear for what felt like the hundredth time over the horizon. Her heart had descended into the sea with the piece of white fabric, just as it was doing now.
By Elena Maldonado-Dunn6 years ago in Humans
20 Ways to Change Your Life
Jordan made a face as he sipped his blackberry ginger kombucha. He missed coffee terribly, but his stomach could no longer handle it like it used to. That was the story of his life lately. There was so much he couldn’t stomach anymore, literally and figuratively. He was getting old, and wondered if 48 was too late for a midlife crisis. It certainly felt too late.
By Guenneth Speldrong6 years ago in Humans
Steven Said.... Top Story - March 2021.
All I ever wanted was designer clothes. Every morning I write in my little black notebook of all the designer items I need from Chanel, Gucci, Dior and Givenchy so I can keep up with all the celebrity trends. Steven, once told me to write down everything you want onto piece of paper then one day it will come true. So that's what I've been doing.
By Bethany Gordon6 years ago in Humans
Replica
Sascha was laying on her sofa, feet propped up on the worn arm, admiring her new shoes. They were Louboutin's black semi-transparent lacy boots that finished a few inches above her ankle. A distraction and an indulgence. Her phone buzzed in her bag. She tried clicking her heels and whispered, anywhere but here, anywhere but here, anywhere but here. White jagged mountains pierced a brilliant blue cloudless sky. Sascha instantly felt the cold and wet seeping through the delicate fabric of her shoes. She wrapped her arms round herself partly on instinct against the cold and to comfort herself. This was just her over reactive imagination. If this was her imagination then a pair of warm boots, actually fur lined would be nice. Heavy thick soled hiking boots replaced her Louboutin's. Something moved in front of her. A person, tall and bulky was striding towards her. She stepped back. Why? She wasn't in danger. This was her daydream. The person was wearing layers of heavy white clothing. A combination of a thick knitted tunic and furs. As he got closer he pulled down the scarf that was wrapped around his face.
By Mollie Imogen6 years ago in Humans
The Ripple Effect
In a dusty corner of a New York bus shelter, balanced on a small pile of leaves, sat two discarded red solo cups. “Seriously?” Jovannah grumbled. With an air of frustration, she scooped the cups up and tossed them into the rusted garbage can - which sat approximately two inches from the cup’s initial resting place. It was then that Jovannah spotted the notebook. It’s smooth black edges poked its way through the leaves much like a bulb sprouts through the ground in spring as a sign of hope and promise.
By Christy Rust 6 years ago in Humans
Ligion
The universe sent Rennie Gordon so many messages he had difficulty distinguishing one from another. When he got his lotto numbers from pausing a stopwatch and recording the really small, fast moving ones at the end, it made sense that only one number was right because those numbers were obviously meant for something else. His children had grown accustomed to what he called “ligion,” and were often disappointed but rarely surprised.
By Emile Bienert6 years ago in Humans
Until We Meet Again
Jen When I got the letter in the mail, I was shocked. It had my name right there among the family. When Harry died, he left me shocked. For days I asked myself why it had to be him, and why it had to be so sudden. I guess with the elderly all it takes is a strong breeze and the fire within them can burn out. But still, he was so strong. I had cared for him every day for four years at that point. He would always tell me stories about his travels. He still wrote letters to his friends in Europe until days before he died. Always with the same ending, “Until we meet again.” Part of me always hoped that they would meet again.
By Brandon Kauten6 years ago in Humans
