The hour arrives the way it always does — silently, like a held breath slipping into the room. But tonight, something wakes me. Not a sound. A pressure. reverberation. As if the air has thickened. Something has metaphorically shaken me awake. I blink into the dark. The clock on the bedside table reads 02:59, though… Continue reading The eater of hours
Converging Lives. Sounds, Silence and Imagery
Poetry, Memory and the uncanny- woven into words
