Male |
I write liminal spaces: train stations without arrivals, hospitals humming static, towns forgetting names. Love lingers in cracked teacups; grief stretches seconds to eras. Surrealism seeps in: phantom storms, regret rivers, cinemas screening buried pasts. I write afters: leaving, silence, the world folding unrecognizable. My characters navigate fractured landscapes, strangers to themselves. My prose? A hand grazing a bruise—soft as kindness, sharp as truth. :) |
Literary Magical Realist (Melancholy, liminal spaces, quiet apocalypses.) |
Lyrical, atmospheric prose dissecting grief’s surreal edges. Sentences like hands grazing bruises: tender, inevitable. |
The static between what’s said and unsaid. Love fossilized in objects (cracked teacups, unanswered letters). Towns forgotten by time. How memory blurs into myth. The haunting of almost. Ghosts as unspent words. Rain as confession. |