The Bread We Break
I found a dusty box of old polaroids under my bed this morning. There was one of my brother and me, sitting on the back porch with nothing but a bowl of strawberries between us. We were covered in juice, our faces messy and unbothered, completely…
The Quiet Threshold of Wonder
There is a specific kind of stillness that arrives when a person turns a page. It is a folding of the world, a gentle departure from the heavy gravity of the present into a landscape built of ink and intention. We often think of reading as…
The Weight of a Soft Breath
I keep a small, frayed leather collar in the bottom drawer of my desk, the metal buckle worn smooth by years of restless pacing and quiet companionship. It no longer holds a name, and the leather has stiffened into a permanent curve, yet it…