Self-help
Mike Savage’s Favourite Spots in New Canaan
New Canaan, Connecticut, is more than just a picturesque town — it’s a vibrant community where history blends seamlessly with modern charm. For Michael Savage, a prominent figure known for his passion for collecting and cultivating culture, New Canaan is home. His favourite spots around town highlight the unique character of this place, from hidden gems to renowned landmarks.
By Mike Savage New Canaan6 months ago in Chapters
Karachi Chronicles Chapter 1
Years ago, returning from Europe, I was stopping over in Dubai airport. Exploring the cavernous terminal, I found myself needlessly gliding along a travelator, when something abruptly commanded my attention. Drifting across my field of vision, like a cloud blocking the sun in an otherwise vacant sky, was a group of guys draped in flowing white robes. Clad in black and sporting a large, messy afro, I was the shade behind the cloud. On the outside, we shared no resemblance.
By S. J. Leahy6 months ago in Chapters
Steps of Liberation: Paths to Wholesome Freedom - Part 3
There is a weight heavier than grief .. The weight of shame you were never meant to carry. After the dust of my divorce had settled and I’d begun to find my footing, I noticed something lurking beneath my progress. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t fear.
By Yvey Essen6 months ago in Chapters
Steps of Liberation: Paths to Wholesome Freedom
The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful kind that wraps around you like a soft blanket - but the kind that echoes. The kind that reminds you of absence. The kind that sits across from you at the dinner table and dares you to say something. Anything.
By Yvey Essen6 months ago in Chapters
“The Room with No Name”
She walked into the room like a question begging to be answered. Barefoot, half-robed, skin tasting of lavender and doubt. Her name was Elizabeth — soft lips, storm eyes, and a tension in her step that betrayed everything she tried to hide.
By Randolphe Tanoguem6 months ago in Chapters
The Leftover Light
The morning after the funeral, I made tea for two. One cup went untouched, the steam rising alone. I don’t know why I did it. Muscle memory, maybe. Or some soft part of my brain that refused to update itself to reality. I set her mug — chipped blue rim and all — down on the table and sat across from it like I was waiting for her to walk in and scold me for oversteeping.
By Moments & Memoirs7 months ago in Chapters







