Love
Finding love on the mountaintop
Vera Myles 2:45 PM (0 minutes ago) to me When the trailhead finally came into view, the world rushed back—cars, voices, the soft tyranny of schedules. I felt the familiar pinch of endings, that reflex to armor up before something good could leave. But you turned to me, eyes bright, unguarded.
By Vera Mylesa day ago in Fiction
finding love on the mountain top
The mountain didn't look like a place where love would happen, It looked sharp and aloof, a spine of stone rising out of the morning fog, more interested in the weather than in people. I climb it for quiet. For the distance. For the simple, selfish wish to feel small enough that my thoughts would finally stop shouting.
By Vera Mylesa day ago in Fiction
Feelings Never Die. Top Story - February 2026.
It is Valentine's Day again, and it bought back memories that were over fifty years old. It bought me back to 1971, and I woke up and I knew my baby was due today. I was big and pregnant, and I felt like I was about to burst wide open. Imagine my surprise when the doctor told my I had a due date of February 14. I couldn't believe it, and since my baby was due today, I felt I could indulge myself a bit. I had gained a lot of weight, and chocolate was on the no-no list, but I had came to the end of this pregnancy, and I hoped it would be okay, after all I would deliver this baby today. So I walked across the street to the grocery story, and bought myself, a peppermint patty, covered in chocolate, my favorite. Me and my Valentine's baby would enjoy it together.
By Susan Payton2 days ago in Fiction
Another one
A soft melody flows from my turntable and fills the living room, bathed in amber light. Sitting on the couch, a glass of rum in hand, I slip into an almost meditative state. The sound, slightly rough in texture, like a fire crackling in the fireplace, carries me far away: beyond my daily worries, beyond the image of my mother that has haunted me for the past fifteen years.
By Anastasia Tsarkova2 days ago in Fiction
No Crying Over Spilt Romance
Oh, you’re a hand-shaker? Well, nice to meet you. I’m Nancy, your narrator. Don’t worry, I know about narrative structure. I majored in English Literature (minored in Women’s Studies) then went on to do an MBA in Marketing, which is all about getting the story right.
By Rachel Robbins2 days ago in Fiction
Seven Days a Week, I Return to Her
I usually wake up before my alarm sounds off because she hums before dawn, not audibly, but in the way a thought hums when it has been rehearsed so often it no longer needs sound. The apartment is dim, the city is still deciding whether it will wake me or leave me alone, and I pad across the floor to where she waits. She is matte black and silver, unassuming in profile, yet somehow radiant when the light hits the curve of her handles. I place my hand on her console the way some people touch a pulse point, and the day aligns itself. Seven days a week, without fail, I climb aboard and let the rhythm find me. This is not an exercise. This is a return.
By Anthony Chan3 days ago in Fiction
When the City Forgot the Stars
The city never truly slept. It only pretended to rest between waves of noise and light. Neon signs pulsed like artificial heartbeats, flooding every street with color. Giant billboards promised happiness in bold fonts and perfect smiles. Cars rushed past like they were late for something important. And above it all, the sky stood silent, empty, stripped of its stars.
By Salman Writes3 days ago in Fiction
Single Dad
I’m a single dad. I live in a big city. Big deal. My girlfriend Joan left me, and now I have our son, Marcus, who is three and very adamant that he will become the world’s first toddler circus acrobat. He seems to want to climb everything, everywhere we go, and seems to have it in to give me a heart attack before he turns four.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 days ago in Fiction
