Love

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
Eight O'Clock
If today was such a great day, then why was she shaking? Alice sat on the couch nervously twisting her ring. For the hundredth time she glanced at the clock.
By Adam Kolozetti13 days ago in Fiction
Toe Painting for a Donkey. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
“You have to come. I don’t care. Meet there. Bye.” Lola ended the call abruptly, frustrated. Jim is always so hard to convince. Sick of his stupid crap. He knows we do this every year.
By Andrea Corwin 13 days ago in Fiction
New Day no. 5642. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
She feels him rolling out of bed. Hears his footsteps on the stairs, quietly down, then, some time later, sometimes waking her a second time, steadily back up. She hears him approach the door, prepares herself to shrug off the shawl of darkness and softness and open ended wonderings, breathes out the musty night-time closeting of her self, and turns her face to the ingress.
By Hannah Moore13 days ago in Fiction
This Is Not a Poem About Love
I used to think love ended loudly. I imagined slammed doors, dramatic goodbyes, tears falling onto unfinished sentences. Movies taught me that heartbreak arrives like a storm — sudden, violent, impossible to ignore.
By LegacyWords13 days ago in Fiction
When Hurt Changes Hands
The first time she said it, he believed her. They were at the kitchen table. Late. The overhead light was too bright, the kind that exposes flaws. She had just finished telling him that he was exhausting to be around, that his sensitivity made everything heavier than it needed to be.
By Jesse Lee13 days ago in Fiction
Part of Me. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
My love and I have been trapped inside of our respective houses like rats in a cage ever since the start of the pandemic. An ocean separates us, but distance is no challenge to our love. Text messaging, email- these things are so impersonal and cold. She and I are old souls both, and prefer the method of the old-fashioned letter. It takes longer, but the heart grows fonder with delayed gratification, to put a new spin on an old, tired phrase. I've certainly found it true in any case.
By Raistlin Allen13 days ago in Fiction
Steamy signatures
I write her intials everywhere. Carved in trees. Sharpied on the golf balls I use. I love the symmetry, the simplicity because she is anything but simple. My written devotion to her always begins in the shower. I'll slide the glass door open, turn the shower knob slightly hotter than what is immediately comfortable. Then I'll step out and wait until the glass fogs like beer mugs in a fridge. When the glass morphs from transparent to translucent, that's when I'll step back in. I'll stand still, elated by the hot water, embodying the warmth that feels like she did, and then I'll begin the artwork. I'll search for a spot I hadn't used before, and then I'll write her intials, "SWS" and underneath, a heart and an X and O. Then, I'll write it again on the other side, then again on the shaving mirror. I'm approaching two years in a row without missing a day. I'll even do this at friends' houses. In essence, I'm the Banksy of love.
By Daniel K13 days ago in Fiction
Unaccounted Dreams
Lydia sat on the edge of the sofa, never completely relaxed nor ready for anything either. She sipped tea politely listening to Erika's mumbling. Money on the brain. That's all she thinks of. Lydia knew they had everything needed or could ever want, but no, Erika always wanted more.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)13 days ago in Fiction
Romantic Picnic For Two. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
The evening air hung heavy and hot, unseasonably warm for April. As the sun sank down, hovering just over the mountains in the distance, its angry glare blinded Tanya as she walked westward. Cursing herself for forgetting her sunglasses, she shifted the weight of the pack on her shoulders, letting a rivulet of sweat slip down her spine. Her feet angrily protested her choice to place fashion over function as the leather of her sandals chafed the back of her heel and sides of her toes. But Tanya didn't stop or slow. She moved forward, watching the trees in the distance grow closer with each step.
By A. J. Schoenfeld13 days ago in Fiction
He Loves Me. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
The church bell tolls—dong, dong, dong. I sit on the bench and wait, like I have every day for five years. Roland and I used to have lunch with the guys every afternoon, but when my circumstances changed, we agreed just to meet here.
By Aubrey Rebecca14 days ago in Fiction
The Shell’s Call
Kaia wandered the sun-kissed shores of Cayo Costa each and every morning, collecting calcium carbonate treasures and listening to the gentle hum of churning ocean water.
By Madison "Maddy" Newton14 days ago in Fiction