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The Borrowed Face. Top Story - August 2025.
Elisabetta was woken by shivers that ran up and down her spine. She found herself lying on the dew covered, lush grass. Her head was pulsing with pain. She must have hit it — why else would she hear music shimmering like bells? She was still in the forest.
By Imola Tóth6 months ago in Fiction
The Storm That Never Came
We arrived at the lake of Châtrices after half a day’s hike. I let my backpack fall onto the picnic table with a thud. It felt so heavy like I was carrying rocks all day. I kicked off my shoes, and wiggled my toes until life returned into them.
By Imola Tóth6 months ago in Fiction
#4
young blood, baby fat we're all dead in the inside lost in solitude ~~~ This haiku is one of the few surviving ones I wrote when I first started to write poetry. (The others got lost on floppy disks and notebooks my mum threw out.) I used to give them numbers as titles, this was the 4th I've ever written.
By Imola Tóth7 months ago in Poets



