literature
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She asked me, “Why are you not writing anymore?” I went quiet. I didn’t know how to respond. How can you respond when there are no words, signs, or tokens for what I can feel, for what I can see, for what I can experience? How to tell her that whatever I write has already…
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The city was a grid of glass and steel, a testament to human ambition and a monument to flawless design. It was a world of sharp angles and polished surfaces, where every flaw was a failure and every imperfection was edited out. In this city lived Elias, an architect who had forged his own existence…
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The chipped ceramic mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but the chill inside her remained. Outside her Brooklyn apartment window, the city thrummed with a Friday night energy, a symphony of car horns and distant laughter that felt both alluring and menacing. She should be out there, she knew. Her friends were probably at that new rooftop…
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The box was from my grandmother. It arrived on my doorstep, a worn cardboard cube held together with fraying twine. Inside, nested in tissue paper that smelled of lavender and old books, I found her journals. They weren’t diaries filled with daily events, but something else entirely. Each one was a map of a different…
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Elias, the last watchmaker in the sprawling city of Meridian, was a man out of time. His small shop was an anachronism, a sanctuary of ticking gears and coiled springs in a world that had moved on to silent, digital precision. He spent his days hunched over a workbench, his magnifying loupe an extension of…
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A Descent into the Psyche’s Shadowland The dream begins with a deceptive sense of solace. The “stray dogs, shabby, dirty, yet very joyful and cheerful towards me” represent a primal, untamed aspect of the self. In the narrator’s profound loneliness, these creatures offer what is so desperately craved: unconditional affection and a sense of belonging.…
.:THE GUIDED REFLECTION:. 