The Weight of Iron
We carry things that have no weight, yet they pull us toward the earth. A house that no longer stands. A door that has been unhinged for decades. We hold onto the metal, the cold shape of a lock, as if the physical object could anchor a ghost.…
The Architecture of Breath
We often mistake stillness for an absence of movement, forgetting that the seed beneath the frost is working, and the chrysalis is a busy room of transformation. There is a quiet violence in becoming—the way a wing must fold itself into a…
The Weight of a Smile
We carry our burdens in the lines of our faces. It is a map of where we have been and what we have had to endure. In the north, the cold settles into the skin, hardening the expression until the eyes are all that remain of the warmth we once…