There is a specific, sharp quality to the air in mid-December, when the frost begins to settle on the windowpane in delicate, fern-like patterns. It is a cold that demands a counterpoint—a need for something to hold the heat of human presence…
If we were to strip away the noise of our own importance, would the world continue to breathe in the same rhythm? We often move through existence as if we are the protagonists of a grand, unfolding drama, forgetting that the earth is filled…
I often think that the most profound conversations happen in the silences we keep, not the words we trade. There is a specific kind of stillness that settles over a city when the trams stop their rhythmic clatter and the market stalls are finally…
Light in the Dark by Maria Magdalena Vladu-Popa
Blue-eared Kingfisher's Reverie by Saniar Rahman Rahul