short fiction · 2026-10-19

Empty Windowsills

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

On the ledge where no picture ever hung, I felt the quiet weight of letters that never found their address, each one a small stone dropped into an empty space. The air was thin, like the breath between two heartbeats, and every pause seemed to pulse with a memory I could not name. I watched the shadows stretch across the wood, tracing patterns that whispered of conversations paused before they began, and in that stillness I understood that absence can be as resonant as presence.