luna hart

Joined October 2025

49 stories

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Stories (49)

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Lives Lost Between the Pages
History is often imagined as stone—monuments, dates, borders carved into certainty. But some of its greatest losses were made of paper.
By luna hart12 days ago in History
When Your Name Lingers
I remember the curve of your smile, how it lingers in the corners of my mind long after the world has quieted down. Your voice is a map I can follow blindfolded,
By luna hart13 days ago in Poets
The First Snowfall of Childhood
The first flakes fell quietly, almost shyly, in the gray light of early morning. They clung to the rooftops, settled on tree branches, and dusted the streets like powdered sugar. For most adults, it was just another winter day. But for a child, it was an invitation—an unspoken promise of adventure, mischief, and wonder.
By luna hart13 days ago in Humor
The Quiet Emergency
Global warming did not arrive like a disaster movie. There was no single day when the sky fell or the oceans rose without warning. Instead, it crept into our lives quietly—through warmer winters, longer summers, and news headlines we learned to scroll past. It became the kind of emergency that doesn’t scream, only whispers, until one day you realize the whisper has been following you everywhere.
By luna hart13 days ago in Futurism
Earth Watched Us Change
Earth remembers us differently than we remember ourselves. Before cities pressed their concrete palms into her soil, before oceans learned the taste of plastic, before the sky grew crowded with our signals and smoke—Earth knew us as quiet creatures. We walked softly then. We listened more than we spoke. Our footprints faded with the tide.
By luna hart14 days ago in Futurism
The Last Valentine
The city smelled like rain and chocolate. February’s chill lingered stubbornly in the air, but the tiny café on the corner glowed warmly, promising refuge from the cold. Inside, a few couples sat close, whispering across steaming mugs, while single souls clutched their phones or journals, lost in their own quiet worlds. Among them was Clara, her eyes tracing the pattern of raindrops sliding down the windowpane. Valentine’s Day had arrived again, and yet it felt quieter than ever.
By luna hart14 days ago in Humans
No Witnesses
Silent truths in shadows dwell, Where stories hide they dare not tell. A fleeting glance, a whispered name, No one sees, yet all feels the same.
By luna hart14 days ago in Poets
I Hid Parts of Myself
I hid parts of myself the way people hide letters they never send—folded carefully, tucked into drawers, told they’d be safer there. It wasn’t one big decision. It never is. It happened in moments so small they felt harmless: a sentence swallowed, a laugh softened, a truth edited into something more polite.
By luna hart15 days ago in Writers
Some Places Heal Quietly
Some places do not announce their miracles. They do not glow or sing or promise transformation. They simply wait. A wooden bench beneath a tired tree.
By luna hart15 days ago in Poets
When the Olive Tree Remembered
The old men of Athens used to say the city was not built of marble, but of waiting. Waiting for ships to return. Waiting for sons to grow into shields. Waiting for the gods to answer, or to remain silent. On the morning this story begins, the olive trees along the dusty road leaned inward, as if they, too, were listening.
By luna hart16 days ago in History
Ink in My Veins
The first time the words appeared on paper, I thought it was luck. A fluke. A fleeting gift the universe had decided to give me, just to see if I’d notice. But by the third page, I realized something else: the words didn’t come to me—they came through me.
By luna hart16 days ago in Writers
The Last Beat of the Night
The bass hit first. Not subtle, not polite, just a body-shaking thrum that rattled the floor and promised chaos. I had heard it before in dreams I couldn’t place, in memories I didn’t know were mine. But here it was, live, loud, and unforgiving. The club smelled of sweat, cheap alcohol, and ambition.
By luna hart16 days ago in Beat