The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

to breathe (poem)

Jan
19
To view this content, you must be a member of Liana Mir's Patreon at $1 or more
Already a qualifying Patreon member? Refresh to access this content.

Missing You

Mar
16

It’s past midnight. Yata can’t sleep. He tosses and turns on the pillow, rolls over, huffs a sigh, trying to ignore the empty space where Saruhiko used to sleep, trying to ignore the quietness in their little place.

Saruhiko has always been quiet, but somehow it never felt like this.

Yata clenches his fists and buries his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the hot, tight feeling in his chest. Saruhiko betrayed them (him), left them (him). He isn’t coming back.

The room is empty of anyone but Yata. There’s no one there to mock or watch him cry.

Trusting

Feb
26

Her little brother was so small.

Zana stared at him, tucked away like a curled up kitten beneath the blanket in her narrow bunk. She barely remembered him, a newborn when she’d been forced to leave.

But here he was now, his breaths soft and even with sleep, his freckled face open and trusting. She wondered why he would trust when it was their own mother that had brought him to the training facility and abandoned him to his sister’s arms.

Zana sighed and shifted in the chair to gently kiss the top of his hair. “I won’t leave you.”