The Rhythm of the Rain
There is a specific kind of silence that falls over a city when the sky finally breaks. I remember standing under a rusted awning in a neighborhood I barely knew, watching the pavement darken as the monsoon arrived. People who were walking…
The Breath of Thin Air
There is a specific sharpness to the air at high altitudes, a cold that tastes like iron and wet stone. It settles in the back of your throat, crisp and unforgiving, reminding you that oxygen is a privilege here. I remember the feeling of wool…
The Tide That Keeps Nothing
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am watching the way shadows stretch across the floor, mimicking the way we try to hold onto things that were never meant to stay. We spend our lives carving paths into the sand, convinced…