short fiction · 2026-10-15

Lexicon of Light

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet hour before dawn, I lay each word like a stone on the path of feeling—soft, uncertain, testing the weight of a sigh. The first syllable trembles, a hesitant breath; the second gathers the hue of remembered laughter, warm as tea left too long. By the third, the fog lifts just enough to see the shape of longing, not as a monster but as a moth fluttering against the glass of my chest. Each word is a step, and with each step I understand a little more of the shift that moves beneath my skin, invisible until named.