love

All you need is Love, and Love is all you need.

Abundance Mentality
Here’s a truth that can completely change your love life: your mindset matters—more than your looks, your bank account, or even your social skills. One of the most powerful shifts you can make is embracing what’s called an *abundance mentality*.
By LaMarion Zieglerabout a year ago in Humans
Out of the Darkness: Appreciating What It Means to Be Me
When I first saw Rick's unofficial challenge, my ideas instantly sparked. But then they fizzled out as the days went by, each day almost identical to the last.
By Alyssa Mussoabout a year ago in Humans
When My Mother Looks Into My Eyes
When my mother looks into my eyes, the world stops. Not in a dramatic, thunderous way—but in a quiet, aching silence, like the hush before a song that only love can sing. Her gaze is not just a look; it is a map of years lived, sacrifices made, and unconditional love wrapped in patience, endurance, and a soft smile. There is something deeply human in that gaze, something ancient and spiritual—something we often forget to recognize until life reminds us of its weight.
By Leesh lalaabout a year ago in Humans
More Than You Think. AI-Generated.
What's in a name? That timeless question, posed by Shakespeare, often leads to philosophical musings on identity and essence. But beyond the poetic, could your name – that seemingly arbitrary label assigned at birth – actually wield a tangible influence on the trajectory of your life? While it might sound like something out of a self-help guru's playbook, a growing body of research and countless anecdotal experiences suggest that the answer is a resounding yes. Your name, in subtle yet significant ways, can impact everything from your career prospects and social interactions to your self-perception and even your romantic life.
By David Andrewsabout a year ago in Humans
Behavior. AI-Generated.
In today’s fast-paced, highly connected world, our actions speak louder than ever. Every nod, every smile, every word we choose—or don’t choose—creates a ripple effect. Behavior is the invisible thread that connects us to one another. It’s not just about manners or etiquette; it’s a deep reflection of our inner self and how we interpret the world around us.
By David Andrewsabout a year ago in Humans
Sleep when you're dead. AI-Generated.
Why Sleep Should Be Your Top Priority — And What Happens When You Don’t In a world that glorifies hustle culture and late-night productivity, sleep is often the first sacrifice we make in our daily routine. "Sleep when you're dead" might sound like a cool motto, but the truth is, not prioritizing your sleep may lead to faster burnout — physically, mentally, and emotionally. Let’s dive into why sleep is one of the most important activities you can do each day and what happens when you continuously put it last on your to-do list.
By David Andrewsabout a year ago in Humans
The Final Song
Seraphine was barefoot in the middle of a sunflower field when Ryan first saw her. Her arms were outstretched toward the sky, as if she were holding sunlight in her palms. Her red scarf danced in the wind, a streak of fire against the golden sea. She didn’t see him watching from the dirt path, breath caught like a bird in his throat.
By Mazharul Dihanabout a year ago in Humans
"The Price of Everything: A Rich Man’s Tale"
Thomas Wexler sat alone in the grand study of his Manhattan penthouse. The silence was thick, broken only by the quiet ticking of an antique gold pocket watch on the polished oak table before him. Neatly stacked bundles of hundred-dollar bills sat beside a half-empty glass of whiskey, a string of pearls, and a few gold coins—symbols of a lifetime devoted to wealth.
By UMAIR KHANabout a year ago in Humans
A Day Without You
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue on the empty side of the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from the night before, and her scent lingered faintly in the air—lavender and something uniquely her. I reached out instinctively, half-asleep, expecting to find her there. But all I felt was cold fabric and the hollow ache of her absence. Today was the first day without her. I shuffled into the kitchen, made coffee without a word. No humming from the hallway, no off-key singing from the shower, no cheerful “good morning” that used to make my heart flutter, even after all these years. I drank the bitter brew in silence, the taste sharper than usual, maybe because it wasn’t shared. Her favorite mug was still in the dish rack. A chipped, hand-painted one we found at a flea market on our trip to Asheville. I ran my finger along the rim, remembering how she used to cradle it with both hands, as if drawing warmth straight into her soul. Everything in the apartment was as she left it. A half-read book on the nightstand. Her slippers tucked neatly under the chair. A single earring on the bathroom counter—the other, I imagined, lying somewhere between the couch cushions or trapped in the vacuum. Funny how absence can fill a place more than presence ever did. The clock ticked louder than usual, the walls seemed to echo every creak and sigh. I wandered through the day in a daze. I tried watching our favorite show, but the silence beside me on the couch was unbearable. I turned it off halfway through, the laughter on screen sounding forced and far away. I walked to the park. She loved it there—the rustling trees, the children’s laughter, the occasional dog chase that made her laugh till she cried. I sat on our usual bench, the one near the pond, under the big oak tree. For a moment, I closed my eyes and pretended she was next to me, our fingers entwined, her head resting on my shoulder. But the breeze that kissed my cheek wasn’t her touch. The birdsong wasn’t her voice. And when I opened my eyes, she still wasn’t there. I replayed our last conversation in my head over and over. Every word, every pause, every glance. She had said she needed time. Space. That she had lost pieces of herself trying to hold us together. And I—I had let her go, thinking it was temporary. A short chapter in our long story. But sometimes, stories end not with a bang, but with a whisper. A door closing softly. A toothbrush missing from the holder. A heart learning to beat alone. Back home, I stared at her photo on the shelf. She was smiling, eyes bright with some secret joke. I remember taking that picture on a lazy Sunday morning, pancakes and music and messy hair. She had looked at me like I was her whole world. And now mine felt like a world half-erased. I picked up a pen, one of hers, and found a notebook. On the first page, I wrote: “Today was a day without you.” Then the words kept flowing. I wrote about the quiet. The ache. The memories that clung to corners like dust. The way the sky seemed a shade dimmer, the air a bit heavier. I wrote, not because it would bring her back, but because I needed to remember what love felt like. Even if it was just in echoes. By the time night fell, the moonlight spilling silver across the floor, I felt something shift inside me. Grief, yes—but also gratitude. For the days we had. For the laughter, the fights, the mundane moments that now shone like gold in my memory. A day without her was painful. But it reminded me that I had once had her. That I had known a love deep enough to miss this fiercely. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would hurt a little less.
By Usman Ali about a year ago in Humans
Celebrating Life in a Difficult World
These days, the world feels heavy. We see wars, disasters, people running from their homes, and stories of pain on the news every day. But even in hard times, there’s something special about remembering what’s good in life. A birthday. A hug. A family meal. A kind word.
By Numan Shahabout a year ago in Humans
Mother's Slippers
Arif grew up in a humble mud house on the edge of a small village. His father had passed away when he was just five years old. The world didn’t pause, but his mother did. She paused her dreams, her comfort, her rest—just to raise him.
By Tahir Mehmoodabout a year ago in Humans
The Standing Boy of Nagasaki
In the haunting ruins of post-war Nagasaki, amid twisted steel, crumbled buildings, and scorched earth, a quiet, solemn figure stands out — a boy, perhaps no older than ten, standing still with perfect posture. On his back, tied with a cloth, is the lifeless body of his baby brother. His face is calm, composed, and eerily mature. A U.S. Marine photographer, Joe O’Donnell, captured this moment — a photograph that would come to symbolize the human cost of war in a way no statistic ever could.
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Humans