Salt on the Skin
The taste of the sea always lingers in the back of my throat, a sharp, metallic tang that reminds me of being small and reckless. I remember the feeling of wet sand squelching between my toes, cool and heavy, pulling me toward the tide. There…
The Weight of a Life
I keep a small, brass key in my desk drawer that no longer fits any lock I own. It is heavy, cool to the touch, and worn smooth by the friction of a thumb that has long since stopped turning it. There is a particular ache in holding something…
The Weight of a Word
I had a disagreement with my neighbor this morning over something as trivial as a misplaced trash bin. It started with a sharp look, then a few clipped sentences, and suddenly we were both standing there, shoulders tense, defending our own…