Platform for exophonic writers
A two-storied brick house appeared before Lwin, who could not believe his eyes, when his childhood friend pointed at it and blurted out “It’s the…
I replay fragments of the last conversation between our two quiet hearts, across the space of ten lifetimes, over the telephone on this blood-red night:…
What is love but a flight atop of a silent bird? Writing on my couch, its crude and empty softness picks at me and the…
Sitting on the bench, he dwelled one last time on the thought of his decision. Right there and then, he could tell clearly; he was…
Crash barriers laying prostrate on the grass submit to the septic waxy light. We nestle in the pliable dark blots in the little streets away…