James Taylor
Stories (36)
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The River That Remembered Names. AI-Generated.
They said the river could remember. Of course, I didn’t believe it. Grown-ups never do. But in our town, the stories had roots deeper than reason — and if you listened closely enough, the water sometimes sounded like it was whispering.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Summer I Learned to Speak Without Apologizing. AI-Generated.
I’ve always been good at saying sorry. Too good. Tripping in the hallway? Sorry. Saying something wrong in class? Sorry. Even breathing too loudly in a quiet room? Sorry. It became automatic, a reflex that I didn’t even notice until one summer when everything changed.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Collected Stars. AI-Generated.
They said she was strange. Every night, when the world dimmed and the streetlights flickered on, she climbed onto her roof with a glass jar and a flashlight that barely worked. She’d sit there, cross-legged, scanning the sky like someone waiting for a sign.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Journal
The Summer We Pretended to Be Brave. AI-Generated.
We were sixteen and thought the world was ending every other week. That summer, the heat was relentless — the kind that melted the horizon into a soft blur. Our small town buzzed with cicadas and gossip, and every day felt both endless and already slipping away.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Confessions
The Boy Who Collected Blue Things. AI-Generated.
He said blue made him feel calm. His backpack, his pens, even his phone case — all blue. He told me once that he collected the color because it reminded him of summer skies, and summer was the only time his parents didn’t fight.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
