luna hart

Joined October 2025

49 stories

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Stories (49)

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Silence Is the Most Expensive Rent I Pay
I remember the day honesty missed a payment. It wasn’t dramatic. No slammed doors. No raised voices. Just a small meeting room with flickering lights and a manager who kept saying we’re a family here while sliding a new workload across the table. I wanted to say I was already drowning. I wanted to say the hours had crept into my sleep, that my weekends felt like unpaid overtime.
By luna harta day ago in Humans
Receipts of a Life
I never kept receipts for refunds. I kept them because they proved I was here. They lived in a shoebox under my bed, curled at the edges, ink fading like a shy confession. Anyone else would have called it trash. I called it a record. When your life is small, documentation matters. When your dreams are fragile, you learn to fold them.
By luna harta day ago in Writers
Learn, Create, and Earn
No one ever told us the truth about success. We were taught shortcuts, not journeys. Applause, not patience. Results, not roots.
By luna hart6 days ago in Education
The Day the Sky Forgot Our Names
The day the sky forgot our names, it did not announce itself with thunder. There was no earthquake, no sirens, no breaking news banner crawling across glowing screens. It began softly—so softly that most people mistook it for a normal morning.
By luna hart6 days ago in Poets
The Price of My Silence
The silver spoon in baby Leo’s mouth cost more than my father earned in a year. I watched the light glint off the polished metal as I fed him, my expression a mask of practiced, professional warmth. To the Richardsons, I was "Mara," the quiet girl from the agency with glowing references and a knack for soothing colicky infants. They saw a savior; I saw a crime scene.
By luna hart7 days ago in Confessions
I Wasn’t Innocent
The Lie I Lived I grew up in a town that loved to smile in public but whispered secrets in private. Everyone knew everyone, or at least thought they did. I learned early that appearances mattered more than truth. At school, at church, at the grocery store, I played the part of the quiet, obedient child. The one who smiled at teachers, who nodded at neighbors, who never questioned. But inside, I was a storm. A storm of impulses, of choices no one wanted to see. And yet, I wore my mask so well that even I began to believe it.
By luna hart7 days ago in Confessions
Writing as Survival
There are moments in life when writing stops being an art and becomes a necessity. Not something you choose to do, but something you do because the alternative—silence—is unbearable. In those moments, writing is not about grammar, structure, or audience. It is about survival.
By luna hart8 days ago in Writers
Climate Anxiety Is Real
There is a quiet fear many people carry now—one that doesn’t announce itself with sirens or headlines, yet hums constantly beneath daily life. It appears while scrolling the news before bed. It lingers during heatwaves that feel a little too long, winters that arrive too late, storms that seem angrier than before. This fear has a name: climate anxiety. And it is real.
By luna hart8 days ago in Psyche
The Third Dial
The antique shop was the kind of place where dust didn't just settle; it seemed to hold the furniture together. Silas, a man whose life was measured in clicks and notifications, found the object in a corner shadowed by a headless mannequin.
By luna hart10 days ago in Horror
The Architecture of Us
It’s not found in the silver screen, Or the verses of a frantic pen; It lives in the spaces in between, The "text me when you're home again."
By luna hart10 days ago in Poets
The Painted Sky
The thunder retreats with a low, heavy sigh, Leaving silver-rimmed clouds in a wearying sky. The earth smells of petrichor, ancient and sweet,
By luna hart11 days ago in Poets
The Myth of Infinite Earth
We have a peculiar habit of treating the world like an open-tab bar where someone else is picking up the bill. For centuries, the human psyche has been anchored in the "Frontier Myth"—the belief that if we use up one valley, there is always another over the next mountain. If we fish out one bay, the ocean is vast enough to hide the loss.
By luna hart11 days ago in Earth