Lovers on Charles Bridge by Mirka KrivankovaThe Weight of Being Held
It is 3:14 am. The house is quiet enough to hear the hum of the refrigerator, a sound that feels like a heartbeat in an empty room. I am thinking about how we hold onto each other. Not the way we touch when the sun is up, but the way we cling…
The Architecture of the Small
I often find myself wandering the industrial edges of the city, where the concrete gives way to the stubborn, unkempt weeds that push through the cracks in the pavement. We are so conditioned to look for the grand, the monumental, the skyline…
The Salt-Stained Horizon
There is a specific, muted silver that settles over the coast when the clouds are heavy with the threat of rain, yet refuse to break. It is a flat, honest light that strips away the vanity of colour, leaving only the essential architecture…