Two Coats, by Barry CawstonThe Architecture of Departure
We leave behind the shells of ourselves long before we actually depart. A coat hung on a hook is a ghost of a shoulder, a hollowed-out memory of the warmth that once occupied the fabric. We shed our skins in the rooms where we labored, leaving…
The Hum of Velocity
The air tastes metallic, like a copper penny pressed against the tongue just before a thunderstorm breaks. I remember the sensation of standing on a wide, open field, the ground vibrating through the soles of my feet—a low, rhythmic thrumming…
The Weight of Silence
The night does not fall here; it settles, heavy and absolute, like a shroud over the frozen earth. We build monuments to reach upward, hoping to catch a sliver of something that does not belong to the dark. We carve stone and glass, believing…