Author: Helena Ghoche

The temple hung from the cliff like a cracked tooth,  Wind moved through its ribs.  Below, the valley flickered with small lights,  Each one a name he would not say.  She stood inside the circle of carved stone. Bare feet on marble.  No chains.  He almost touched her face.  Stopped.  If he had, his hands…

I let the garden grow around a grave. I watered the roots of something that was already waning. On the fourth, the moon knew before I did. It was enough. Give me back that summer I folded into my chest like a stolen page. The one I thought we both kept. But you were only…

He called himself Helios, but there was no dawn in him. Only light that burns without giving, a glare that exposes then abandons. He rose like certainty –  gold on the surface, promising warmth, but every orbit ended in distance. Revenge lived in his rays, quiet, patient, like heat that cracks stone over time. Not…

I searched, and searched again in your eyes; found nothing. I searched, And searched again, for the love you spoke of two days ago— found nothing. You thought I was looking tenderly. I wasn’t. I was searching. You thought I could fall for you— I didn’t. You fell too hard to notice. I searched, and…

they name her  as if naming could hold her  as if a word  could close around something that was never meant to be contained  she lets it happen —  the soft misunderstandings  the almost-accurate versions they worship the outline  never the eclipse;  she exists in the fracture of light where meaning slips  and form betrays…

6am.An empty classroom;darkness pooling across the deskslike it belongs here,like it’s waiting. My phone glows against the nightthat refuses to leave,a Russian song slipping through the air,whispering your voicewhere my hands can’t reach. I imagine your touch –the way it lingeredeven after you left,and I imagine you reading my words,knowing I wrote themwith you in…

I hope I haunt you —bone-deep,like an ache you pretend you don’t feel. I hope I drift through the corridors of your nights,curling beneath your ribs —uninvited,unforgiven. I want every sunrise to taste like the memoryyou tried to bury alive. May your days shiverwith the echo of my name —the name you swallowedwhen you fled…

I knew it. From the first glance, like a secret already waiting beneath my skin, a truth unspoken. I knew it. The moment your devilish eyes caught mine, pulling me under with no promise of return. I knew it then. When your smile unfurled – reckless and dangerous, yet softer than morning light on a…

I didn’t dip my toes— I dove… Headfirst,into blackwater cold. Where sound foldsand light forgets your name. I opened my chest like a wound,let salt flood the seams. Even the moon turned awaywhen I slippedunderneath. Down I sank—past jellybone dreams,through shipwrecked wantsand the bones of thingsthat once begged to be held. The pressure kissed me…

The masks were white—not clean, but dead,like wilted lilies left too long in water,faces frozen mid-lie,grinning with teeth that never knew warmth. They surrounded me—and I, draped in a robe too white to belong to me,felt them cling like guilt to my skin. It whispered of silence,of purity I never asked for,in a room reeking…