It would have been a lovely home
Once upon a time, I was walking on a street unknown to me.
The street was bright, the road was lively. I liked this unknown street very much.
The air was busy with sounds of cheery welcome tune.
And in standing in that unknown street, a strange…
The Weight of Stillness
There is a specific kind of waiting that does not look for an end. It is not the restless pacing of a hallway or the checking of a watch. It is a stillness that settles into the bones, like dust on a sill. We spend so much of our lives moving…
The Threshold of Breath
The air at high altitude has a specific texture; it is thin, sharp, and tastes faintly of cold stone and ancient, pulverized ice. When you inhale, it does not just fill your lungs; it scrapes against the back of your throat, a reminder that…