The Weight of Being Seen
It is 3:14 AM. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, wondering why we spend so much energy trying to be invisible. We walk through crowds with our heads down, guarding our secrets like fragile glass. We fear the moment…
The Weight of Small Hands
Why do we assume that the burden of the world is meant only for the shoulders of the weary? We often look at the innocence of youth as a sanctuary, a place where time has not yet carved its heavy lines into the skin. Yet, there is a quiet,…
The Ghost of the Midway
There is a specific silence that follows the dismantling of a fairground. It is not the silence of a forest or a library, but the hollow, ringing quiet of a place that was built to be temporary. I remember the way the ferris wheel looked against…