| Calling Can we expect there to be silence? Ever? |
| Review of: Calling This little piece may be short, but wow… it carries a quiet ache that lingers long after you finish reading it. You took just a handful of lines and managed to create a whole emotional world — one full of stillness, loneliness, and the soft echo of memory. What struck me right away is how delicate the language feels. “My bones, I feel, are near dust.” There’s something beautifully fragile about that line, like the speaker is admitting how worn-down they’ve become without trying to make a spectacle of their pain. It’s tender, understated, and honest. And then that turn — that soft cry from above. That realization: “I am someone’s lost love.” You didn’t over-explain it. You didn’t weigh it down. You let the emotion speak quietly, which makes it hit even harder. It feels like a ghost-memory moment — sad, yes, but also strangely sweet, like someone is reaching across time or distance to grieve what was once precious. There’s a sweetness tucked inside the sorrow. A sense that love, even when lost, still leaves an imprint. That’s what makes this piece so lovely. It’s simple in the very best way — pure feeling distilled to its essence. You should keep writing pieces like this. You have a natural instinct for capturing emotion with very few words, and it’s a rare talent. Kind wishes, Tee
|
|||