luna hart

Joined October 2025

17 stories

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Stories (17)

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Love, Written Softly
Love did not arrive like thunder, it came the way dawn does— quiet, patient, asking nothing of the dark except permission to pass.
By luna harta day ago in Poets
Art Refused to Be Silent
Art never saved me in the dramatic way people like to tell stories. There was no moment where I stood before a canvas and suddenly understood my purpose, no lightning bolt of genius, no applause waiting on the other side of creation. What art did instead was quieter—and far more stubborn. It stayed when everything else learned how to leave.
By luna harta day ago in Art
Silence Learned to Speak
In the beginning, I believed silence was empty. That belief came from books, from classrooms, from people who spoke loudly enough to convince me that worth is measured in volume. Speak up, they said. Be heard. Leave a mark. But no one ever taught me how to listen to what remains after the noise leaves.
By luna harta day ago in Poets
Nature Doesn’t Ask to Be Understood
Nature does not speak in sentences. It speaks in pauses— the kind that slow your breathing before you notice you were rushing at all.
By luna hart3 days ago in Poets
I Loved You Without Borrowed Words
I did not fall in love— I learned its weather. How your silence could frost a room, how your laughter bent light the way heat bends roads in summer.
By luna hart3 days ago in Poets
Love, After It Leaves
We loved each other in unfinished sentences. Always almost. Always later. Our mouths learned the shape of “someday” but our hands never reached it.
By luna hart4 days ago in Poets
The Quiet Things I Never Said
I learned the sound of loss before I learned how to name it. It arrived softly— not as thunder, but as rooms that echoed
By luna hart4 days ago in Poets
I Loved You Like an Earthquake
I loved you like an earthquake, Not the gentle tremor before dawn, But the shudder that splits the earth wide, Opening chasms no one warned me about.
By luna hart5 days ago in Poets
Small Acts
In the quiet moments, when no one is watching, revolutions are seeded in the smallest of acts. These aren’t the grand speeches or the thunderous declarations; they are the whispers of change—almost imperceptible to the untrained eye—yet they carry the weight of an entire future. We often think of revolutions as the sudden eruptions of power, the tidal waves of force that sweep through history. But, in truth, they are often built from the quiet moments before the storm.
By luna hart6 days ago in Motivation
In Search of the Perfect Imperfection. AI-Generated.
There is a certain grace in the crooked line, the one that breaks from the symmetry of a carefully measured design. It is in the pause between breaths, when the world seems to falter and then steadies itself. Some call it imperfection, but those who seek it know better: it is perfection in its truest form, the moment when everything aligns, not because it was forced, but because it was meant to be.
By luna hart6 days ago in Art
When You Heal, You Grieve the Life You Tolerated. AI-Generated.
Healing is often sold as a sunrise. A bright thing. A moment where pain loosens its grip and the world feels newly possible. But no one talks enough about the quiet mourning that follows. The unexpected grief. Because when you heal, you don’t just feel better—you finally see what you survived. And that realization can ache in a way you never expected.
By luna hart8 days ago in Psyche
Counting Tomorrow Instead of Drinks. AI-Generated.
I wouldn’t say I’m trying to quit drinking. That would imply resolve, discipline, and some sort of moral awakening. None of those apply here. What I am trying to do—tentatively, experimentally, and with a healthy dose of skepticism—is stop pretending I don’t know exactly how much I drink.
By luna hart9 days ago in Motivation