Many have stood here
But fewer at the summit
Some of them remain
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Simon Curtis and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Arithmetic of Letting Go
There was a hand once — open, unhurried, sure of itself, the kind that reached for things before it knew their names. Then came the scissors. Small. Precise. Labeled neatly — a. — as if loss, too, follows an instruction manual, as if every wound has its proper terminology.
By Prompted Beautyabout 21 hours ago in Poets
Sail On, Silver Girl
I was still mad about it, all these years later. I was barely an adult, and only thinking about boys, partying, and occasionally studying. I know, quite a change, isn’t it? I swear, the universe laughs, and the Deity feeds and thrives on the irony produced by our efforts.
By Meredith Harmonabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
powerful