Prose
Shadow of a Ghost
I just wanted one thing, only one, something small, something only for me. Instead, I am reminded that I am nothing more than a memory. The shadow of the ghost of the girl that used to breathe fire. A force of nature that slipped through many a finger.
By Syl De'Vil3 days ago in Poets
The Open Latitude
There is a profound difference between a trap and a sanctuary. In a world that constantly demands a performance—where you are expected to carry a specific shield, speak from a flawless script, or meet an overwhelming list of expectations—it takes a massive amount of hidden energy just to keep up the perimeter. It is exhausting to feel like you always have to be a finished hero just to step into the light. When the stakes feel too high, the natural instinct is to pull back, to retreat into the quiet safety of the open road or the distance of a screen, simply to find room to breathe.
By Syl De'Vil5 days ago in Poets
The Architecture of the Echo
For two decades, names have been kept quiet in the corners of my mind. There are phantoms from the deep past, markers of a distant time before the world got heavy, before the beautiful noise of a full house, and before the endless roads that never seem to arrive anywhere. Then there are the steady anchors of the present, the ones who stand just close enough to offer wisdom but remain entirely outside the physical perimeter of the flame. When you carry that much history, you naturally build a complex architecture around people in the dark. You wonder which path leads to an absolute ending and which one is just another horizon designed to keep you guessing.
By Syl De'Vil5 days ago in Poets
