Crows at Gaziantep by Ilyas YilmazThe Sharp Edge of Winter
The air tastes of iron and wet wool. It is a thin, biting cold that settles deep into the marrow, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your breath hitch in your throat like a caught thread. I remember the silence of a heavy snowfall—not…
Red Devils by Leanne LindsayThe Velocity of Belonging
There is a particular hum that rises from the asphalt when the city decides to move in unison. It is not the steady, rhythmic pulse of a tram line or the predictable shuffle of commuters at a train station, but something sharper—a vibration…
Green in between Red by Taufik GustianThe Crispness of Waiting
The smell of a cold apple is the smell of autumn before it has even arrived. It is a sharp, clean scent that cuts through the humidity of a heavy afternoon, promising a snap that vibrates through the jawbone. I remember the way the skin felt…