Month: March 2025

The taxi driver asks, “What has wheels but never sleeps?”The waiter says, “Two hands but never claps?”Even the street signs taunt you,cryptic arrows pointing nowhere.You try to ask for directions,but they just laugh—“You must answer three questions first.”

It flips itself over, unimpressed.Your procrastination does not amuse it.The sand whispers down, judgmental,knowing full wellyou’ll make the same mistakethe next time it turns.

The shelves were heavy with silence.Ink longed for eyes, paper craved fingers.She ran her hands over the spines,whispered to them in the dark,promised them one daysomeone would listen.

First, the roots tickled his lungs.Then the branches cracked his ribs.By spring, birds nested in his collarbones,foxes curled up in the hollows of his hips.By summer, he forgot how to speak,but the wind understood him.

Static whispers in the voice of the dead.Old love songs play themselves backwards.Turn the dial too far, and you’ll hear it—a long sigh,a name you almost recognize.

A man sends his childhood back to himself.A woman mails a love letter to a version of herthat still believes.The packages stack up, unopened.Somewhere, in a quiet room,someone carefully sortshope from regret.

In the airport of lost conversations,someone wheels a suitcase, overstuffed.It drips with last words unsaid,with half-hugged farewells,with “I’ll call you” lies and teary almosts.Security scans it, finds nothing but echoes.They let it through.

His empire crumbled beneath tiny paws.A single swat knocked the crown from his head.Revolution came at feeding time,the army betrayed him for a better brand of kibble.No statues remain,only claw-marked curtainsand a velvet throne covered in fur.

Slow-blooded dreamer,tracing slime trails in the shape of longing.She streaks across the sky, fire in her tail,while he watches, patient,knowing love is measurednot in speed, but in return paths.

Folded it neatly into his coat pocket,smuggled it past the jealous clouds.At home, he hung it over his fireplace,lit the room with tangerine glow.People whispered, the sky felt empty,but no one ever caught him—a thief of light, a smuggler of endings.