The Weight of the Ledger
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the ceiling, wondering if the ledger of a life ever truly balances. We spend our days adding up the small things—the coins, the hours, the tasks—as if the sum will eventually…
The Weight of a Pencil
When I was ten, I watched my grandfather sit at the kitchen table every Sunday evening to balance his ledger. He used a stubby yellow pencil that he licked before every entry, his brow furrowed as if he were solving a riddle that kept the roof…
The Edge of Breath
The sun does not fall. It only retreats. We watch the horizon, waiting for the color to bleed out, as if the sky were a wound that finally stopped aching.
There is a weight to the end of a day. It settles in the shoulders. It gathers…