Milan Milic

Joined June 2024

542 stories

Bio

Hi, I’m Milan. I write about love, fear, money, and everything in between — wherever inspiration goes. My brain doesn’t stick to one genre.

Stories (542)

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Receipts from Another Life
I found a shoebox in the dark behind a winter coat. Its cardboard spine is still whispering like a paper-throated throat.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
How to Hold a Falling Star
The lesson starts when you mistake a spark for a star, When gravity teaches your open palms to be hands, when streetlamps dim just enough to remember the night,
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Weathervane Promises
The roof remembers how we turn toward weather and light. Your vow was copper, spinning slow in the square of the window.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Curtains That Refuse to Close
Our living room keeps theater hours long past evening’s news; The curtains won’t agree to close—they yawn and then refuse.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Love Notes in the Margins of Sleep
At two a.m., the world goes wide, the clocks forget their keep, and we become footnotes of light—love notes at the edge of sleep.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Soft Warnings in the Wallpaper
At dusk, the living room grows lips; the patterns start to speak— a flock of tiny ivy leaves that whisper at the cheek. They murmur from the plaster seams in threads of cream and gray:
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Your Name in the Vending Machine
I found your name behind the glass, in coils of chrome and light. A snack-sized fate with foil shine that flickered late at night.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
I Fold My Fears Like Laundry
I sort the thunder from the sighs and the reds from bleeding blues. The mornings that unraveled me from nights that stuck like glue.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Where the Streetlights Go to Pray
At dusk, the city buttons up its rusted overcoat. And every lamppost clears its throat to hum a softer note. The halos lean like tilted crowns on heads of steel and clay—
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Spare Change
First payback—coins to me. I figured I miscounted. By the door: a ceramic bowl—keys, coins—a grown-up junk drawer. Pennies, dimes, and one stray token from a laundromat that quit before my lease did. I dump pockets there at night so tomorrow I don’t swear at a washing machine with hands full. Practical. Ugly. Normal.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Fiction
Static Between Our Songs
We used to tune like matched guitars, two bodies, one bright chord. A needle dropping clean on love, no skips we couldn’t afford.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
The Forge Goes Quiet
The day burns down to iron. I lift the bar from the throat of the hearth and carry the small comet to the anvil— a red thought cooling as it travels.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets

Milan Milic

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(542)

Filter by community

Receipts from Another Life

How to Hold a Falling Star

Weathervane Promises

Curtains That Refuse to Close

Love Notes in the Margins of Sleep

Soft Warnings in the Wallpaper

Your Name in the Vending Machine

I Fold My Fears Like Laundry

Where the Streetlights Go to Pray

Spare Change

Static Between Our Songs

The Forge Goes Quiet

Stories (542)