I am an author. An author who collects memories, breathes some life in them and brings the moments back not to reality but to the hearts and minds. In this world full of suffering, I don’t survive, I live. Unlike most other authors in the world who bring back the words forgotten, promises unfulfilled and the noisy bitter tears, I like to collect and rejuvenate silences.

Silences, yes. I like the...

I collect silence

I collect pain

But I listen And I wait

For someone to collect mine

The day you woke up

And you heard nothing but your own breathing

Your partner left for work

And you were sick with the flu

The evening you went to a party

But they gave you the wrong address

So you sat on your porch steps

Hot angry rivers

Rushing down your flushed cheeks

The day your parent died

And...

The silence of the deceased is unbearable.

The dead don't come back. I'd come to understand that too. Before her death, I had always been very quiet too.

But never before has the silence been louder than when I faced my mother's murderer. He said nothing, just stared with his cold, dead eyes before he disappeared out the broken window.

The murderer was never caught, instead I was thrown into p...

There was once a person who collected silences. Not sounds, not echoes, not even the absences between words. No, they gathered the moments when the world itself seemed to pause and hold its breath. They kept them in small glass vials, labeled in looping handwriting: Before the confession, After the laughter, Between forgiveness and regret. Each silence had a texture. Some were smooth as silk like ...

I know these moments, plentiful and waiting. I adorn my soul with these feelings I’ve snatched, all of them born of anticipation.

But this… this is different…

This fear is something I wasn’t meant to take.

The moment before death… before the heart stops, before the eyes glaze over, before it all ends.

I never imagined her eyes would just dim like that; I thought it was all make-believe, uns...

I only have … hours to live because I am not like most people. I cherish silence, the way it eats you up, spits you out, then still has the audacity to hug you. My favorite silence though, is the one that isn’t made- because there is no one to make it. The silence in solidarity, when you are alone. Alone with your suffocating thoughts. Off the edge of the cliff, or the edge of water, or- the edge ...

Life is peaceful right now,

maybe a little too peaceful

for its own good.

I am too intoxicated

by its softness to understand

how fast it can shatter;

how everything familiar

can crumble into dust

before my eyes even

have the time to cry.

I want to push you away,

because I’ve lived this pattern;

happiness slipping into sorrow,

sorrow sharpening into heartbreak,

my chest left cracked

in places I d...

In the shadowed corners, where silence reigns,

Lies a tale of anguish, of unspoken pains.

A girl, who had once smiled so bright.

Now hides away in the dark of the night.

In the hollow echoes of a child's cries,

Lies the shattered remnants of innocent skies.

Words become blades, cutting deep and raw,

A sea of tears, blood and gore.

In the broken shards of shattered dreams,

A girls sadness into ra...

Silence, do you hear me?

Clarity’s voice chased me like light through a crack—persistent, invasive, uninvited.

I ran. Not because I couldn’t face her, but because I knew what she wanted: confession. And I don’t confess. I collect.

I turned a corner too sharply, breath catching on the edge of a memory, and found myself somewhere I hadn’t meant to be.

The Hall of Secrets.

It wasn’t marked. It n...

it wasn’t sharp, not really.

more like a petal that refused to wilt.

She carried it across the hate-filled earth,

the way one might cradle a candle, guarding its flame.

wherever she struck,

flowers rose in apology,

and hatred found itself unable

to remember why it stayed.

people whispered:

you can’t fight with such a thing.

but she did.

and the world softened around her attacks.

for her weapon ...