Altering the past.
Reflection is like stepping
on butterfly wings.
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from David Ginsberg and writers in Poets and other communities.
Dawn tiptoed in, whispering ideas into my ear like a mischievous muse. I stirred, feeling the familiar itch of inspiration tickling the edges of my consciousness.
By David Ginsberg3 years ago in Poets
Tell me, does the robin understand what she is singing about at dawn, that whole gorgeous insistence of song rising before the sun has fully committed
By Tim Carmichael3 days ago in Poets
An anxious feeling wells up in my chest, my hand turns the key, three times.
By Madison "Maddy" Newtona day ago in Poets
Loud laughter leaks from the lunchroom… door sitting slightly ajar. Surely today will be different. As they say, “Today is the start of the rest of my life!”
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.