At the Chime of a City Clock

I can hear the closing of the day. There's an abundance of memoirs - fallen words inside my coffee cup, unlit, unscented candles, the red postbox at the end of the street, and knots in my hair, golden and burnt each with a story to relay. The windows are closed, one by one, in steady... Continue Reading →

Heart in a Box

They didn't say anything about wrapping love and keeping it aside. Or if they did, she must have missed the memo. Because all she had ever known was to squander her affections on people who crossed her lives, and left souvenirs behind. She didn't collect them, of course, but they were there, reminders of what she had given away, and... Continue Reading →

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