#WritingThatStings

[zeithforge]

A mirror on fire

what do you do when someone writes like a mirror of fire? casting galaxies between breaths, and folds strange creatures in the hollows of your ribs long after silence settles?

You dare not name it— you whisper “curiosity,” murmur “friendly,” laugh nervously as you circle back to the same broken sentence, twelve times or more, because maybe, just maybe, a little flicker of hope.

You try to speak their language — tuning the static of thunder, searching for a melody buried beneath the storm. Sometimes a signal breaks through, sometimes only white noise. But still, you listen.

Do they know? Do they feel it? Not the flutter, not the pulse, but the echo. The hollow hush when they vanish.