Test

Joined June 2019

427 stories

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Breathe Of Light.
Trapped, yet not alone, Whispers of grace fill the void, Breath and light return.
By Test9 months ago in Poets
When the Red Room Closed In: Loneliness, God, and the Quiet Ways I Keep Breathing.
“Some stories don’t end with answers. Some end with breath. That’s enough for today." -M. McGinis There are days when I can’t talk to people. Not because I don’t want to—but because I don’t know how to bridge the gap between what I feel and what others expect me to say.
By Test9 months ago in Confessions
Between Life and Death: A Near-Death Experience That Taught Me the Power of Love and Prayer.
Part One: The Struggle of Illness. It wasn’t just any hospital stay. This was the aftermath of my bone marrow transplant—a battle that drained me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I had just undergone the final rounds of chemotherapy, and I was lying in that hospital room feeling like my body had been stretched to its limits.
By Test9 months ago in Humans
Me and Cauliflower: An Unexpected Adventure.
Cauliflower wasn’t on my radar. It wasn’t love at first sight or part of some grand health plan. It just sort of… appeared in my life.
By Test9 months ago in Feast
Spinning Back Time: The Soulful Revival of Vinyl in a Digital World.
There’s something profoundly human about the crackle that precedes a song on vinyl. It’s the audible equivalent of a slow exhale before a conversation begins. In a world obsessed with speed, convenience, and instant gratification, the record player dares to ask us to slow down, to listen—truly listen.
By Test9 months ago in Beat
The Ones Still Waiting At The Gate.
Jake came first, big and proud, With paws like paddles and a bark so loud. He ran like thunder down the path, Tail wagging wide like he'd just had a bath.
By Test10 months ago in Poets
Queen Of The Night.
I remember her from when I was small— Evenings warm with distant song. She stood near the back gate, stately and tall, Where we played as the days grew long.
By Test10 months ago in Poets
Do Something.
I wake each day to the song of an alarm clock and to the hush of morning light spilling through curtains I chose. There is no rush, There is nowhere in a hurry she goes. The applications go out like arrows into fog—some fall short, others vanish. None have returned. Still, I make music. I write words that weren’t there before. I care for my people. And surely, that must be something. The world praises motion—titles, paychecks, productivity you can print out. But I’ve chosen something quieter. I’ve signed up for courses. I’m adding tools to my belt. I’m learning while the world is watching for results. Because waiting doesn’t mean wasting. Waiting can be a kind of becoming. It's what I tell myself. Soon, I’ll take the wheel—learn the roads, earn my license, move freer through the world. But even now, even in this pause, I am not stalled. I am shifting gears. I am doing something.
By Test10 months ago in Poets
The Inbetweener.
I drift between the ticks of clocks, Not quite anchored, not quite gone— A shadow stretched across the dusk, Half in the night, half in the dawn.
By Test10 months ago in Poets
The Dating App Dilemma.
I’ve done the dating app thing. More times than I’d care to admit, I’ve created an account, swiped left, swiped right, and then promptly deleted it after a few days. Every single time. It’s like some sort of digital cycle I can’t escape, where I get excited about the possibility of meeting someone, only to be overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the people who do show interest. I mean, I know the point of dating apps is to meet people, but sometimes it feels more like meeting everyone except the person I want to meet.
By Test10 months ago in Confessions
Thread Count.
Katie brought me pillows, a mattress protector, a throw for the living room, a duvet, and an electric kettle. At the time, these things were a lifeline. I had poured every last resource into moving, left with nothing but rent, air, and prayer. When she arrived with her offerings, I opened the door to her, stripped bare of my usual defenses. Grateful. Exposed. She saw that.
By Test10 months ago in Fiction
Ghana Sugar Bread: A Deeply Scientific (and Slightly Unhinged) Obsession).
Listen. I have not baked Ghana sugar bread. But I have watched this one Instagram reel about 27 times, which makes me at least emotionally invested and spiritually adjacent to it. There’s this baker, right? And they’re just out here kneading dough like it’s a cooperative pet, shaping it so gently, like it might get offended if handled too roughly. And then, out of nowhere, POOF—sugar bread! All golden-brown and shiny like it’s just been buffed at a bread salon.
By Test10 months ago in Feast