Poetry Pages Novels & Stories

Toward the structures that deserved it. Away from themselves. The evening came. They went back inside. To the table. To the thirty-five pages. To the work. To the room that was large enough to hold nineteen years and twelve years and six years and three years and all the years that were still coming the uncounted ones, the unwalked ones, carried by people not yet arrived who would arrive because the room was there. Because the table was set. Because the water had found its level.

"Can you do those three things?" "Yes." "Then come tomorrow. We'll see if you're honest or just desperate." She disappeared into the crowd before Yessica could respond. She barely slept. Lay in the narrow bed with both hands on her stomach, talking quietly to the baby about bookshops and second chances and women who saw through armor. At eight-forty the next morning, she stood outside Pages & Poetry. It was exactly right. Narrow. Crammed from floor to ceiling with books. A handwritten sign in the window. The bell above the door sounded like the start of something.

“They’re about private wounds.” Franc nodded, understanding etched into his features. “But shared healing.” They curated a small chapbook: “Places Silence Shaped Us.” Thirty pages. Each with a poem, a sketch, a truth. They didn’t distribute widely. Just copies in the studio, tucked among supplies and leaning against chipped mugs filled with dried brushes. One guest read the poem about Yam’s panic attack, fingers trembling slightly as they left a note: “Your chaos matched mine. I don’t feel like a puzzle piece anymore.”

When Custos noticed it, the spirit chuckled before continuing. Custos continued before sipping the tea, "There are a lot more universes than you could ever imagine, and all of them differ from one another," Some are the same. Books that were written by imagination are simply like windows to that dimension. " Aesthelia, lost in the train of her thoughts, confusedly said, 'If that's the case, some of the authors imagined what happened from a certain dimension." The fiction turns out to be a real story now that I heard this. I don't know. '

The tale sent shivers down her spine; it was so wonderfully written, and the emotions that came from it were too real. As she read, a gust of wind suddenly blew across the room, and the pages flipped. She was surprised, knowing that she had already closed everything. However, before she could even bother to worry about where that wind came from, she was already drawn to a section where the pages had landed. It was about a ceremony for the werewolf prince to choose his mate. The possible mates were all invited to their palace to participate in this very important event. After the ceremony, the prince would then take over the title of King.

“They found out I have the code. I don’t know how, but… I’ve seen them watching me. I’ve been followed. Two nights ago, someone tried to break into my place. I have to disappear, Lexi.” My voice trembled. “So what do you want me to do?” He handed her a single page—a torn scrap filled with symbols, numbers, and scribbled lines. It looked like chaos. “I need you to write this down. Copy it—exactly. Keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. I’m burning this journal tonight. You’ll be the only person left with this.” I stared at the paper. My hands shook as I took it. “Pastor Dav…”

I opened the other pages, my eyebrows met when I read something. I’ve read the poems and qoutes written on every pages, these poems and qoutes are kinda familiar to me. I read the other written texts. As I turned the last page, my eyes widen when I read it. Is she…

“So, pages, papers… Account? Page? A blog?” I got into it either-ways, and went through each of them and every one of them. Following every suggestions and scanning the accounts to confirm if it was the one I saw that day. They weren’t though. All of the ones I saw. I was almost giving up even, until I stumbled on one with multiple comments per post. A seemingly active page too. “PagesI’llDeleteLater. PagesI’llDeleteLat- this is it!”I rejoiced, scrolling down immediately. Tapping on the posts and scanning them for a bit. Only after reading some did I realize something.

My tears rolled and crept down my face and landed between the pages beneath and on my chest. I take the corner of the cover carefully and hold it between my finger and thumb. I open to a blank page. I then keep on going and I see writing on all pages. "Poems." I breathe. Most are written in blank ink, some in pencil. All of them are drawn with a careless yet wispy style of writing. His writing. I keep on turning the pages in awe. My eyes can't keep up with the endless stream of words. I reach the end of the book.

She had nowhere to rush to, and her body felt lazy, restless. “God, I’m bored,” she whispered under her breath. Her thighs shifted under the desk, the short skirt of her uniform riding up. She tugged it down but only ended up pressing her own legs tighter together. Her phone buzzed on the desk. She grabbed it, scrolling mindlessly. T*****r. I*******m. Nothing. Then a strange link popped up on some forum. “The Cursed Academy — A Story That Warps Reality.” Her lips curved into a little grin. “Cheesy title.” Still, she clicked.