hidden meaning

  • Changes

    There is a particular kind of silence that arrives before something changes. Not the empty kind. Not the silence of abandonment or endings. This one feels occupied, as though something has been moving quietly behind the walls while everyone else carried on believing the house was asleep. For a while, there were only pieces. A…

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  • Killing Zombies

    The headset goes dark before the world appears. For three seconds there is nothing. Then the floor vibrates beneath my boots. Rain. Cold, silver, artificial rain falling through a city that doesn’t exist. I can smell wet concrete. Nice touch. The abandoned street stretches ahead beneath broken neon signs. Cars sit crooked across intersections. A…

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  • The Reader

    Some people are merely reading the chapters of their life as they are exposed, not everyone can be a writer. There is something unsettling about realizing you have been holding the book upside down. You thought the blank pages meant you were supposed to fill them. You thought the pen belonged to you. It never…

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  • The Conference Room

    There is no time to sit idle when the world is spinning round and round. She arrived carrying a suitcase, a laptop, and a mind that had no intention of staying where her body had been placed. The hotel lobby buzzed with polished shoes gliding across marble floors, rolling suitcases announcing new arrivals, and conversations…

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  • A person who sits with their demons long enough realizes that they are all teachers wearing masks. I used to think they came carrying pitchforks. Turns out they arrived holding mirrors. Funny how disappointment always introduces itself as punishment until enough years pass for you to realize it was simply an instructor with terrible bedside…

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  • Borrowed Things

    Maybe it is just boredom that has brought me here, tired of human suffering. Not because suffering is unusual. Because it repeats itself with remarkable dedication. I sat watching people today and couldn’t decide what they were actually chasing. A better job. A bigger house. Someone else’s attention. An argument they intended to win before…

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  • Somewhere today someone is celebrating a birthday, but I truly wonder if they are celebrating the way they should. There it is again. The writer’s block. A great big stubborn wall parked right in the middle of my afternoon like it paid rent to be there. I stared at the blinking cursor hoping it would…

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  • There is a strange kind of silence that only writers hear. It doesn’t sound like silence at all. It sounds like an empty room where people were laughing five minutes ago. I never thought I would run out of things to say. Writers joke about writer’s block the way fishermen joke about rain. It exists.…

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  • Ink Doesn’t Forget

    By the time she found the old tattoo artist, the waiting list had become a legend. Some said he had retired years ago. Others swore he simply stopped accepting people who wanted decoration instead of direction. He never asked what someone wanted. He asked why. There was a difference. The walls around his chair were…

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  • They never notice the weight first.They notice the balance. Things fall apart around them and somehow don’t stay broken.Knots untangle. Fires go out. Plans appear where panic was supposed to live.From the outside it looks like luck. From the inside it feels like muscle memory. There is a way some people move through rooms as…

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