Prose Community

The Vivid Black

A man sits facing the blank canvas. Black is the most vivid of colors. Art is still created in numerous, limitless ways with the color black. The appearance of any other color without a proper place on the canvas is considered a stain. And black becomes the cleaner of stains. Black acquires a... read more

How I feel

Somebody asked how I'm feeling these days, and I actually feel like I've been moving from page to page, where usually each page I go through is ripped right after. How I feel is like there were pages not ripped but flipped past. You need to move forward to continue reading, but you look back as... read more

Speed of time

Time was never fast, but you realize how much you need to catch up with it. What is constant in pace will outlast the inconsistent. There were never new hours in the day nor an additional second in a minute. Perhaps the thought of believing that time moves fast is the truest expression of our... read more

Untitled

Writing the words bear some concrete meaning that scares what is experimental. Words organized in a way that it is aesthetically pleasing to read than understood. But words organized in this way still produce meaning and fulfil their purpose. That is wonderful, because it describes the elements,... read more

Untitled

Never the one who says nice things, but always the one who understands hurt. The world is habit. And so we are all foreign planets. To understand fully is to see a lifetime pass first. Oh, how I desire to study mine when it passes. But that can’t be possible. So my legacy is not mine at all—it... read more

Confessional Prose

I would write when my soul commands me. So I write again. Days feel like eternity. As familiar as I am with the pattern, it just occurs—with the same magnitude, the same chaos, the same crisis. But my mind reaches beyond today, yet it cannot carry two heavy weights at once. The present is killing... read more