fiction
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They say words mean something or nothing at all. In the old wing of the mind, where curtains never quite let daylight in, those words gather like dust and like prayer. They could be true, false, or the careful lies someone tells themselves to make a wound less loud. In that place she lived—always moving,…
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Comfort is not always found in the warmth of the sun. Sometimes it waits in the dark spaces between this and that, in the hushed corridors of the in-between. These are places where shadows roam freely, where secrets linger behind half-shuttered eyes, and where the cobwebs in forgotten corners glisten like veils. The dark is…
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There it sat.A thing, once forged with purpose, now dulled by time and comfort. Not broken. Not ruined. Just… hollow. Not by accident, but by design. Its shape still held, the surface intact, but what echoed inside was nothing. No resonance, no meaning—just a vacuum of self-importance. To the untrained eye, perhaps it was still…
