Love

L.E.O
It's like out of nowhere I came into this new world. A world that represses all of my familiar ways of life and fulfills every last detail of my fantasy.
By Kaae Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Touching short love stories
Touching Short Love Story Part 1 On a train, the boy tweeted with his cell phone, in which he wrote: "On the train, I fell in love with her at first sight. For some reason, she kept looking out the window."
By Martil Guevara 4 years ago in Fiction
The Dance
The Dance No need to be bummed out about this. I told Jackie that I was going to the game so that’s what I’m going to do. I left the parade even though there was more going on and went home to change for the game.
By Patrick Bramer4 years ago in Fiction
In reality, love often understands the right and can stop
Without signs, the chain on the wrist suddenly broke and fell to the ground. She was froze all at once, waiting to pick it up, but her heart was unattended.
By david4 years ago in Fiction
Written with Roses
"When the person you love can't see your love for them beneath the painful things you say when they reject you, remember this: Love is blind." — Shannon L. Alder
By Amani Arts4 years ago in Fiction
Nobody Loves Like She Does
PART I: NALAEA Chapter One: Nalaea Erlynn July 6th, 2022, 12:45 PM. “Hello everyone! I’m Nalaea Erlynn of the Kennorian Kingdom, but you can call me Nala. I am here today to talk to you about the journey that I took to get where I am today, and how you can do the same. You see, success isn’t measured by how others see it, but by how you see it, and it took me far to long to realize that.”
By Pluto L. Amore4 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Music
Home is a place we all must find, child. It’s not just a place where you eat or sleep. Home is knowing. Knowing your mind, knowing your heart, knowing your courage. If we know ourselves, we’re always home, anywhere.” – Glinda the Good witch
By Talia Petoia4 years ago in Fiction
The Girl of my Dreams
I am sitting composing a story - what about? That remains to be seen. It could be about love or war but maybe it is about nothing in particular.
By Ken Makepeace4 years ago in Fiction
The Purple Mansion on Maple
CHAPTER SEVEN Mykhail had been in the mansion with Louise for two nights, having taken the second room on the primary floor, yet Lou had seen him only once as he went out for materials. She went to work for four hours, and returned to find the fireplace in the foyer completely cleaned and prepped with cuts of wood. The brass bucket near it was even polished and filled with kindling, cut precisely and uniformly. The strange thing was, he was silent. Work would be completed, but Mykhail was absent for almost every moment of the day, save dinner. At 6pm, every night, Lou would put out whatever she’d concocted for herself, plus a duplicate dish for Mykhail at the table. He’d thank her, grab his plate or bowl, and remain in his room. The dishes would be returned, washed, dried, and put away the next morning.
By M. Jane4 years ago in Fiction
The Purple Mansion on Maple
CHAPTER TWELVE Maggie hadn’t seen her mother this light in a long time. She had received the invitation to the “house warming” a week ago, and it brought to her face a smile of endearment. The invitation was handcrafted, delicately written, and showcased Lou’s artistry that Maggie had always cherished and tried to emulate. Her mother was creating again. Not for other people, not to sell things, but for the joy of sharing something beautiful. Now she stood on the doorstep, the evening before the party, ready to join in on the decorations. She knew Ellen would be here already, putting the girls to bed and aching for a break; Rachel, if she’d drug herself from Seattle, would be present, likely already discussing the source of the wine or the conditions the cows lived in to make the cheese.
By M. Jane4 years ago in Fiction
The Purple Mansion on Maple
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Ukraine, early 1990s Ukraine had been an independent state for all of eight months; Mykhail Korotsyupenko had already developed his business into a thriving enterprise. Near thirty years old, he was well-versed in the Soviet mindset of doing what was required, but had always known that doing what was necessary was infinitely more rewarding. He delighted in hard work; doing more than what was expected irritated more people than he could count, but Mykhail didn’t need many more people than his family.
By M. Jane4 years ago in Fiction
A Story
Poised quill to Heaven's winds, fortune far from mind and nature's whims Caeli (pronounced "Syla," i as in flya), blew the dust off a journal still upon a shelf. Particles cascaded like loosely strewn ideas. One peered from behind the door. Was the Titmouse guarding the gateway still?
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle4 years ago in Fiction