The Weight of the Day
I remember a morning in a small village outside of Luang Prabang where the air felt heavy with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. I watched a young boy, no older than ten, walking along the roadside with a bundle of grass strapped to his…
Gravity is Only a Suggestion
I remember a summer in Marseille when I watched a group of boys jumping from the old stone pier into the harbor. They didn't look at the water; they looked at the sky. There was a specific, fleeting second at the apex of their leap where they…
The Weight of What Is Coming
How do we measure the space between who we are and who we are about to become? We spend our lives filling rooms with objects, building identities out of the things we touch and the histories we accumulate. Yet, there exists a peculiar threshold…