Love

Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues "It’s not about losing; it’s about the sovereign act of starting again." This visual album is a 26-year "blues scheme" finally brought to life. I first built these dreams in a sandbox back in 2000, but it took two decades of sifting through the dust of the river and the rust of the city to truly hear the melody.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 12 days ago in Fiction
The move
A flash of lightning suddenly lights up the dark and lifeless room. It’s quickly followed by the sound of thunder, which vibrates throughout the mundane walls. The solitary window seems impenetrable yet shutters at the gusts of wind which come with the brewing storm. A thin shy girl looks around the four plain walls in despair, wiping away a solitary tear as her long dark hair blows across her face. As if moving through cement she drags her feet closer to the slightly opened window and peers outside. The floor below seems thousands of feet away and she becomes mesmerized by the distance.
By Marty AM12 days ago in Fiction
I Was Your Passport
I Was You Passport I chose you over my mother and father. I chose you over my brothers and sisters. I gave my everything to you.
By Marie381Uk 12 days ago in Fiction
What We Lost in Winter
The night Liang Jie left, the city was covered in snow. Not the soft kind. The kind that turns sharp at the edges and makes everything look cleaner than it really is.
By Zidane12 days ago in Fiction
What's in a ring?
She insisted that she wanted to be "married". I loved her, so I obliged. I gave her the diamond ring, the most expensive item I'd ever bought, on one knee, in a pose of loving submission.
By A. S. Lawrence12 days ago in Fiction
When Love Feels Right, Why Worry Why? . Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
I always gather all the components well in advance of Valentines Day. Last Spring, for the three-day Memorial Day weekend, I surprised Cleo with a trip to Chicago. I rented a room with a hot tub at the Park Hyatt. We did all her favorite things-- the museums, a play at the Cadillac Palace Theatre, dinner and drinks at Sweetwater Tavern & Grille.
By Lightning Bolt ⚡12 days ago in Fiction
Asklipiou Recipes. Winner in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
Nicola and I have this strange habit, perhaps it's better to call it a hobby. Because a 'hobby' is fun and a habit is something usually not fun, or like smoking, only a little bit fun and with a larger downside.
By Scott Christenson🌴12 days ago in Fiction
Toss-Up Romance
“Going to the movie, heads, or playing a game, tails.” Dan flipped his coin. It flipped in the air as Gabby waited for the answer. The mystery was mounting as the question remained unanswered. Time could only stand still as the wait continued. As the coin fell back to earth, both faces looked at it intricately.
By Sarah Danaher12 days ago in Fiction
Relic
Every Saturday morning I write her a letter in place of a cup of coffee. The kettle can wait. The stove can click itself awake without me. What matters is the scrape of the chair across the tile and the pen uncapping with that soft, hungry pop, like the day taking its first breath.
By SUEDE the poet12 days ago in Fiction
The Orchard Doctrine. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
Lane’s mother had told her that there were things in a marriage that a woman just did. She instructed that they do so with “no fuss. No ma’am, not even a little.” She described how they were expected to behave at all times. Her ma’ had given plenty of advice, but she never instructed her on this.
By Nikki Torino Wagner12 days ago in Fiction
Bundles For the Soul
The island sun, a white-gold coin pressed against the immense blue dome of the sky, baked the limestone flagstones of Hvar’s main square. Tourists flowed like a bright, chattering river between cafes and yachts in the harbor, their laughter bouncing off ancient walls. Yet, in the shadow of the Renaissance cathedral’s bell tower, there was a pocket of stillness. It was the stall of Magda, the woman who sold lavender.
By Anna Soldenhoff13 days ago in Fiction
The Guitar Playing Cowboy. Top Story - February 2026.
He never arrived the ordinary way. No horse at the gate. No spurs clinking. No gravel crunching beneath hooves. If anyone had been watching from a distance, they would have sworn nothing approached at all.
By Leeza-Bridget Cooper13 days ago in Fiction