luna hart

Joined October 2025

73 stories

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Stories (73)

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I Never Played That Game
He sat at the edge of the bed long after the argument had ended, the silence louder than anything she had said. The room still carried the weight of her accusation, thick and sour, clinging to the walls like smoke that refused to clear.
By luna hartabout 4 hours ago in Confessions
The Hardest Goodbye Was Learning Who I Am Without You
I used to believe that when love ended, it disappeared completely. Like a candle blown out in a dark room. But the truth is more complicated than that.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Confessions
Paradise
Long before cities rose from stone and glass, before ink dried on parchment or light flickered from screens, humanity imagined a place beyond struggle—a realm of harmony, abundance, and peace. Around fires in the quiet dark, our ancestors spoke of it. They described gardens untouched by sorrow, rivers that shimmered with clarity, and skies unmarred by fear. Paradise was not merely a location in their stories; it was a promise, a memory, and a longing woven into the earliest rhythms of human speech.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
At the Gate of the Poet
A student knocked on a poet’s door, unsure if he belonged inside, While distant blues and trembling chimes turned silence into a guide.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
The Graveyard’s Whisper
It was written upon a silent stone in a lonely graveyard — a message not carved in marble alone, but in truth. “Your destination was always here, O human.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
Why Won’t You Say My Name?
Why do shame, hesitation, fear, and quiet anxiety refuse to walk gently between us? Why must they stand like guarded doors
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
After the Applause
The applause arrived like weather. It rolled in waves beneath the stage lights, warm and thunderous, striking the body before the mind could name it. From the lip of the stage, the crowd was a single living organism—breathing, rising, dissolving into brightness. Hands clapped. Feet struck the floor. Someone shouted her name.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Humans
Inventory
The night the schedule went up, I stood beneath the fluorescent lights of the breakroom at the chain bookstore where I managed and traced my finger down the grid of names and hours. My shift was highlighted in yellow.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Humans
After the Parade
The music doesn’t stop all at once. It thins. It frays. It becomes a vibration in the soles of my feet long after the speakers have gone silent.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Humans
The Ministry of Hours
When they privatized time, most people didn’t notice. It didn’t happen with sirens or soldiers. No banners fell from government buildings. No declarations were broadcast. The change arrived quietly — in fine print, in revised policies, in updated terms of service that no one read because everyone was already late.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Futurism
The Longest Hallway
Memory has a strange defiance. While my body decays, my recollections remain startlingly young, vivid, and alive. The ache of time touches me physically, but in my mind, every moment is still raw, still immediate.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
Inventory of What Remains
I. Three winters ago, I labeled my grief and stacked it in the hallway closet— winter coats, unmailed letters, a jar of buttons without their shirts.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets