Pulse

He wants to let go, but sometimes letting go means forgetting—and forgetting would mean losing the only proof the thing ever existed. So he keeps it, this tender ache, wears it like a medal for loving hard and surviving harder.

Spiral' is dedicated to one person I know, but at the same time it stretches across the universe for all of us. With spirals at our back, what we hold in front becomes more precious. This art can be found at the Waxing Phoenix Virtual Gallery.

Some didn’t see him. Not really. Not in the quiet way he touched his shoulder mid-sentence, or how his voice dropped when they were alone, like love had weight and he didn’t want to break it.

Marianne’s name faded, the ink still brave: “Endless love, see you down the road.” The words glowed like a candle that refuses midnight.

Her heart stung in that familiar way, as if someone she hadn’t met had once broken it on her behalf. Outside, the wind bent the trees. Inside, she rewound the tape—not ready for the silence that followed.