The passing away of my dad.
When he died,
I became him.
About the Creator
The Year I Learned That Rest Is Not Laziness
For most of my life, rest felt like a crime. If I wasn’t busy, I felt guilty. If I wasn’t exhausted, I felt undeserving. Somewhere along the way, I learned that worth was measured by output, and slowing down meant falling behind.
By Imran Ali Shah7 days ago in Poets
Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)