The Velvet Pulse
The scent of damp earth clings to my skin long after the rain has stopped, a heavy, mineral sweetness that settles deep in the lungs. I remember the feeling of pressing my cheek against the cool, waxy surface of a petal, the way it yielded…
The First Breath of Day
I remember sitting on a stone wall in a village outside of Lucca, waiting for the sun to clear the ridge. An old man named Giuseppe walked past, his boots crunching on the gravel. He stopped, tipped his cap, and said, 'The world is always brand…
Where the Air Gets Thin
I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out old journals I haven't touched in years. I found a pressed flower from a hike I took when I was twenty, and for a second, I could almost feel the thin, sharp air of the mountains…