Sip of Daisies by Leanne LindsayThe Sharpness of Sweetness
The taste of summer is always a little bit metallic. It is the cold, sharp bite of a soda can against the lip, followed by the sticky, cloying ghost of syrup that clings to the back of the throat. I remember the way the sun felt on my shoulders…
Departure is inevitable by Roman SadovskiyThe Architecture of Leaving
To leave is to practice the art of shedding. We are like trees in late autumn, holding onto the gold of our memories until the wind insists otherwise. There is a specific ache in the threshold, that narrow space where the familiar floorboards…
Start of Shooting by Tetsuhiro UmemuraThe Hunger of the Unseen
It is 3:15 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, wondering why we spend so much of our lives performing for an audience that isn't there. We are always preparing. We adjust our posture, we soften our eyes, we wait…