FromOneLine

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FromOneLine

FromOneLine

@FromOneLine

Where can we go with just one connecting #prompt line? #FromOneLine hosted by @megwaf. Anthology Submissions : https://t.co/52PnzgQFtp

Everywhere! Katılım Haziran 2021
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FromOneLine
FromOneLine@FromOneLine·
#FromOneLine 413 Where can we go with just one connecting #prompt line? Let's see how many different places we can discover from just one starting point! Start your poem/vss with the opening line : I remember blueberries #FromOneLine 413 #prompt
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W Foz
W Foz@WFozStories·
I remember blueberries adorning bushes that July afternoon and excited children filling up baskets then later eating their spoils on the front porch in pajamas over ice cream by the light of the moon. #FromOneLine
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iAmWriting
iAmWriting@AudreySemprun·
I remember blueberries and the taste of maybe Sitting quiet on a hill and telling my heart to be still Hauntingly remember the gentleness of his smile There were no baskets to carry Only the quiet that didn't quite taste like regret At least not yet #fromoneline 413
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
Only watched the horizon’s seam— hard— begin to loosen, to come undone— as if the sky were letting go of its breath, giving back the light without a sound. #FromOneLine Prompt No. 412 04/14/2026
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
They Waited Patiently They waited— patiently— for the wind to turn the corner, for footsteps— or something like them— to press a name into the silence. They waited. Light thinning across the sill, a long hush holding the room together.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
They waited— not for rescue, but for stillness to settle all the way in, for the ache to quiet— into something like peace. In the end, they did not move.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
Around them, the world— still rearranging: dust lifting, birds circling too far to follow, the sky— thick with what would not be said.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
Outside, branches leaned close, their shadows scribbling—slow— a dark shorthand across the floor, a language the house already knew.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
What could they have said that wasn’t already folded into the light? Every breath— an apology. Every apology— a wish to stay just a little longer.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
They let the clock dissolve— into the wall, into the quiet. Time no longer counted— only weighed. Deliberate. Slow. Its pulse— soft— knocking against their own.
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JLH
JLH@jlh55149·
No one came. Only the soft breath of walls, the small ticking of things that stay. Afternoon— resting like a hand on the shoulder of time— blurring the chipped paint, holding dust in a gold, weightless suspension.
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Jódorøse
Jódorøse@jodorosewriting·
I remember blueberries, red-black rocks, the kelp that slipped its greens and browns, you, that summer day, the way you lay, seawater in your hair, eyes set on the sky, the bloody gash, and me, feet and fingers blue for different reasons, stood stupefied. #FromOneLine 413
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Wandering Biku. I am not my mind.
I used to be good at remembering things, not useful things like addresses, names or phone numbers: The moons of Jupiter, South American capitals and the triple-point of water. Now I struggle with faces and 'le mot juste' and am surrounded by memoranda at which I forget to look.
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