A quiet descent into the spaces where nothing quite completes
As April draws to a close, we muse on its tendency to be –
Unfinished.
What is incomplete doesn’t let go.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
April. Clara
In her room
Watching. Waiting
Its door shuts
Curtain’s felt fabric folds –
Inward.
At her desk.
A letter.
Incomplete.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
The door shuts –
Stopped.
The
The fabric folds –
Loose.
The tablecloth turned –
Up.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
The letter.
Dusty.
An entry.
In cursive.
Cut off.
Unpenned.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
Midnight.
A phone call.
Half-heard.
The paper –
Half-filled
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
The letter –
To her son.
Almost complete –
Fading ink.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
Clara –
In her room –
Windows-
Half-open.
The letter.
Almost written.
The envelope.
Almost sent.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
The ink –
Vanishing.
🌒✍️📄🕯️⏳🪶📬🌫️
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
