Bobster Blog

Stories serve as vessels for exploration, offering spaces in which to confront questions that resist simple answers. The most compelling nar...

Hello, World. Final runtime: seven minutes, forty-three seconds. That’s longer than most Tinder dates. And marginally more productive, I sus...

I am older now—  too careful with words,  too skilled at folding pain into politeness.  The years have become a tide clock:  ebb, work, slee...

Sometimes I walk past the station  just to watch departures.  I imagine you somewhere coastal,  hair salted, voice roughened by distance.  I...

The screen sleeps in my palm, a small, indifferent moon. Three dots bloom, then vanish— a tide that forgets to come in. I scroll through the...

The room smells of chamomile and damp wool. Outside, autumn is chewing through the trees again. I tell her it’s fine, really—that the underw...

A sign above the booth flickers: FOR ERRORS OF LOGIC, DESIRE, AND IMITATION. Inside, the priest is metal— voice modulated to sound merciful,...

You are older than my own shadow, But prophecy has become paperwork, Miracles are wanted in triplicate. Overwritten.   Even spells need foot...

I held the page as though it were shame, contained in metre, measured in its breath, each syllable obedient to name the old inheritance of l...

I chased the shadow I once cast, like keys I’d misplaced in the past— checking old rooms, lifting cushions, peering under the bed of years. ...

I walk the wide arc of the world, streets are circling under my feet. Faces turn like a slow wheel of days, every step a repeating beat. I t...