luna hart

Joined October 2025

49 stories

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Stories (49)

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When Time Still Stands to Be Honored
They walk slower now, but they carry centuries in their spine. Every wrinkle is a road we did not have to walk, every tremor a price
By luna hart17 days ago in Poets
Privacy Is the New Luxury
The first thing we give away is never our name. It’s our silence. We trade it willingly—tap by tap, scroll by scroll—until the quiet corners of our lives are filled with blinking notifications and invisible observers. Somewhere between posting our breakfast and tracking our steps, privacy stopped being a right and became a relic. Something quaint. Something expensive.
By luna hart17 days ago in Wander
The Quiet Code of Broken Men
They called the place the Yard, though no grass ever grew there. It was a cracked rectangle of concrete behind an abandoned textile mill, fenced with rusted wire and watched by nobody who officially existed. To the city, it was a dead zone. To the men who gathered there after midnight, it was a community.
By luna hart17 days ago in Criminal
Pyramids
The sun hung low over the endless sands of Egypt, casting long, golden shadows that stretched across the Nile. Here, in the cradle of civilization, human ambition met the eternal rhythm of time. It was along this river, where reeds whispered secrets to the wind, that the greatest monuments of antiquity would rise: the pyramids.
By luna hart19 days ago in History
Ballots in Our Pockets
We don’t carry crowns anymore, we carry ballots— folded small, tucked beside receipts and unanswered prayers. Politics is not the man on the screen with a practiced smile, it is the mother counting coins at dawn, deciding which child eats first.
By luna hart19 days ago in Poets
The Season That Listens
Winter arrived without knocking. It slid its hand under the door, quiet as a held breath, and by morning the world had changed its language.
By luna hart21 days ago in Journal
I Am Not Quiet Anymore
I learned early that silence is polite, that pain should whisper, that survival should never make noise. So I folded my screams into my pockets, carried them like loose change, spent them only when no one was watching.
By luna hart21 days ago in Poets
The Confession That Never Slept
By the time the city learned his name, he was already gone. The first confession arrived at 3:17 a.m., typed in clean paragraphs and sent from a public library computer that shut down minutes later. It wasn’t addressed to the police or the press. It was posted anonymously in an online forum frequented by insomniacs, night-shift workers, and people who believed the dark hours told the truth better than daylight.
By luna hart21 days ago in Criminal
Love, Written Softly
Love did not arrive like thunder, it came the way dawn does— quiet, patient, asking nothing of the dark except permission to pass.
By luna hart25 days ago in Poets
Art Refused to Be Silent
Art never saved me in the dramatic way people like to tell stories. There was no moment where I stood before a canvas and suddenly understood my purpose, no lightning bolt of genius, no applause waiting on the other side of creation. What art did instead was quieter—and far more stubborn. It stayed when everything else learned how to leave.
By luna hart25 days ago in Art
Silence Learned to Speak
In the beginning, I believed silence was empty. That belief came from books, from classrooms, from people who spoke loudly enough to convince me that worth is measured in volume. Speak up, they said. Be heard. Leave a mark. But no one ever taught me how to listen to what remains after the noise leaves.
By luna hart25 days ago in Poets
Nature Doesn’t Ask to Be Understood
Nature does not speak in sentences. It speaks in pauses— the kind that slow your breathing before you notice you were rushing at all.
By luna hart27 days ago in Poets