Jhon smith
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Welcome to my little corner of the internet, where words come alive
Stories (97)
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The Silence After the Verdict
The courtroom had emptied, but the silence remained, thick and suffocating, hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that had burned out hours ago. The judge had spoken, the jury had deliberated, and the gavel had fallen with an echo that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the building. The verdict was delivered: guilty. Or was it not guilty? It didn’t matter now. The silence was the only truth left.
By Jhon smith30 days ago in Criminal
Victory Felt Empty
There’s a strange kind of silence that comes after victory. It’s not the kind of stillness that’s peaceful, but the kind that feels like something is missing, as though the echo of triumph never fully settles in the chest. I didn’t know what I expected when I achieved what I set out to do — but it wasn’t this.
By Jhon smith30 days ago in Motivation
After the Funeral, Silence
The sky was the color of old ash, and the wind carried a quiet that seemed heavier than usual. I stood at the edge of the cemetery, watching the crowd disperse slowly, their murmurs fading like footprints in snow. Everyone left a piece of themselves behind in their grief—small, invisible pieces that hovered in the cold air long after they were gone.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Motivation
Maps Don’t Show What We Heal
The first map I ever trusted was folded and creased, its corners softened by other hands before mine. It showed highways in confident lines, cities in bold dots, rivers that seemed to know exactly where they were going. I believed it the way children believe adults—completely, without suspicion. If a place existed, the map would tell me. If a road mattered, it would be drawn.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Lifehack
Art Isn’t Escape — It’s Translation
People often speak of art as a doorway out—an exit from reality, a refuge from pain, a soft place to land when the world grows loud. They say we read to forget, paint to flee, write to disappear. But the longer I live, the less that idea holds. Art has never taken me away from life. It has taken me deeper into it.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Art
Listening to Trees
I didn’t go into the woods looking for wisdom. I went because the city felt too loud in ways sound couldn’t explain. Sirens, screens, conversations stacked on top of each other—everything demanding attention, everything urgent, nothing patient. I told myself I just needed air. A walk. An hour without notifications.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Writers
When Art Stops Protecting You
For as long as I can remember, art was my armor. Whenever the world felt too loud, too chaotic, or too demanding, I retreated behind a canvas. The stroke of a brush or the scratch of a pen was more than just a creative act; it was a defensive maneuver. To create was to build a fortress where the walls were made of watercolor and the moat was filled with ink.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Art
The Age of Emotional Burnout
We live in an era of "more." More connectivity, more productivity, more expectations. We are told we can have the high-powered career, the curated social life, the perfect fitness routine, and a soul-deep relationship—all at once. But there is a silent tax on this lifestyle, one that doesn't show up on a bank statement but in the quiet, hollow spaces of our hearts.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Humans
Emotional Timing Is Everything
We are often told that love is a matter of chemistry, shared values, and perhaps a bit of luck. We’re taught to look for "The One" as if they are a destination on a map. But after years of navigating the highs and lows of modern dating, I’ve realized that love isn’t just about who you meet—it’s about when you meet them.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Humans
The Alchemy of Ash
We have reached a strange crossroads in 2026. For years, we were told that the future would be a streamlined, gleaming paradise of efficiency. Yet, as we navigate the mid-point of this decade, most of us aren't looking for more speed. We are looking for soil. We are looking for something that feels heavy, ancient, and undeniably real.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Poets
Held, Then Released. AI-Generated.
Mara didn’t realize how tired she was until she stopped moving. She stood at the top of the ladder, paint roller heavy in her hand, staring at the unfinished stretch of siding in front of her. The color was meant to be calming, something between blue and gray, but up close it felt uncertain, like it hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet. The sun pressed warm against the house, and for the first time all day, Mara felt the weight of everything she’d been carrying settle into her chest.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Poets
