Classical
The Boy Who Collected Mornings. AI-Generated.
When I was a kid, I met a boy who collected mornings. That’s what he told me, anyway. He said it one summer day when we were sitting on the swings behind the old library, sharing a melted popsicle. I must’ve been nine. He was maybe a year older, the kind of boy who always seemed to know things no one else did.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The House That Remembered Light. AI-Generated.
The house was never empty — not really. Even after my mother died, it seemed to breathe. The curtains still swayed when the windows were closed, the floors creaked where she used to walk, and the kitchen light flickered softly at midnight, the way it always had when she was up late making tea.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Library of Unsent Letters. AI-Generated.
They say there’s a library hidden somewhere in every city — a place that holds every letter never sent. Apologies that came too late. Goodbyes written but never spoken. Words that might have changed everything, if only they’d been read.
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 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
