omao

‘The Walk Home’ Two footsteps. They stop. Three. Distance. Silence. Strange little moments between people. More pieces: → Substack omao on Substack @omao1?r=6wv9he&utm_campaign=profile&utm_medium=profile-page" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener">substack.com/@omao1?r=6wv9h…

The crossing clears. One foot waits. The light has changed. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

Nothing was said. Everyone answered. #microfiction #minimalism

We never knew. We kept walking. We called it home. Then entered. It never answered. We stayed. #poetry #minimalism #microfiction

The gate opens. The crowd moves. One suitcase waits. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

The door was still there. The way wasn't. #poetry #minimalism #microfiction

The room relaxed. My seat felt farther away. #poetry #minimalism

The café empties. One cup stays warm. Nobody returns. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

We named it home. That's how we got inside. The world never answered. We kept naming it. It may never have meant that. We lived anyway. #poetry #minimalism #microfiction

The label stayed. I didn't. #poetry #minimalism

The lights go out. The room goes still. The eyes stay open. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

The ground was gone first. The reason remained. Nothing else. Too late. The choice arrived. #poetry #minimalism

The joke ends. Everyone laughs. One face doesn't. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

The dress was gone. No one asked. #Fragments #Microfiction #Minimalism #FlashFiction

The chair stayed. No one did. #poetry #minimalism

The elevator arrives. The doors open. Nobody moves. #TheWalkHome

Not everything leaves. Something remains. #TheWalkHome #microfiction #minimalism

The music stops. The headphones come off. The rhythm remains. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

The call ends. The phone goes dark. The ear stays warm. #TheWalkHome #microfiction

Already. No verdict. Still judged. My name arrived first. #poetry #minimalism

Two footsteps. They stop. Three. Step. Step. Still three. A stone stops. One step doesn't. Far ahead, someone waits. They pass. Still three. The crossing ends. There were two. No edge. Still, walking. #TheWalkHome #poetry #minimalism