The Weight of Transit
I keep a small, brass key in the velvet lining of my jewelry box, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is worn smooth by the friction of a pocket, its edges softened by years of being carried without a destination.…
Hi-Ho by Rafael Lorenzo de LeonThe Weight of a Step
The mud remembers.
It holds the impression of a life, however brief. We walk through the world, convinced of our own permanence, leaving heavy marks upon the earth. But there is another way to move. A way that asks for nothing. A way…
The Weight of the Air
When I was ten, I spent an entire summer trying to touch the top of the doorframe in the hallway. I would stand on my tiptoes, stretch my fingers until they ached, and leap, hoping that for one fraction of a second, I would be taller than the…