Memory has a strange defiance. While my body decays, my recollections remain startlingly young, vivid, and alive. The ache of time touches me physically, but in my mind, every moment is still raw, still immediate.
By luna hartabout 4 hours ago in Poets
I. Three winters ago, I labeled my grief and stacked it in the hallway closet— winter coats, unmailed letters, a jar of buttons without their shirts.
By luna hart2 days ago in Poets
Everyone in Cedar Hollow knew that if you wanted something done properly, you asked Mara Ellison. She was the kind of person who color-coded her grocery lists and labeled the labels. When the town’s Fourth of July fireworks malfunctioned three summers in a row, it was Mara who redesigned the launch grid with a spreadsheet and a level. When the school board’s Wi-Fi went down, she bypassed the firewall with three keystrokes and a sigh.
By luna hart2 days ago in Humor
Here I am again, sitting quietly at home, music spilling through the room, feeding something deeper than myself. Outside, the world moves in bursts of color and motion.
By luna hart4 days ago in Poets
The first time I saw her, a crimson ribbon crowned her hair, contrasting with the earthy green of the forest. A worn leather backpack slung across her small shoulders. She moved through the trees like a shadow learning its edges—lifting stones, parting ferns, listening to the wind as if it whispered answers only she could understand.
By luna hart4 days ago in Fiction
He was always the quietest person in the room. Not shy. Not awkward. Just quiet. At work, he met deadlines. At gatherings, he smiled politely. When someone asked, “How are you?” he responded with the universal lie — “I’m good.” He mastered the art of appearing functional. And in modern society, functionality is mistaken for mental health.
By luna hart7 days ago in Psyche
I am sad — but I am not angry with you. Sadness is not always rebellion; sometimes it is simply the shadow of love standing quietly behind hope.
By luna hart9 days ago in Poets
Once, in the mirror, there used to be a face — a whole identity that answered to my name. What has happened to me now? What was I, before I became this?
By luna hart11 days ago in Poets
Not a single dream ever reached its full horizon. And yet— I did not lose my mind after that. The accidents of life continue like endless recommendations,
By luna hart12 days ago in Poets
We live in an era that rewards the loud. From the frantic "Look at me" energy of TikTok transitions to the aggressive networking of corporate boardrooms, silence is often mistaken for absence. We assume that if you aren't speaking, you have nothing to say.
By luna hart14 days ago in Journal
I spent years solving for X, Scanning crowded rooms for a variable I couldn’t name, Counting the heartbeats wasted on rehearsals
By luna hart15 days ago in Poets
The notification light was a predator. For three years, I was a slave to the "Red Dot"—that tiny, crimson circle on my phone that told me if I was relevant or invisible.
By luna hart15 days ago in Psyche
