The Weight of Echoes
I keep a small, rusted skeleton key in a velvet-lined box, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, cold to the touch, and carries the faint, metallic scent of a house that no longer exists. There…
The Threshold of Elsewhere
There is a specific weight to the threshold of a house you no longer inhabit. It is not the wood or the iron that stays with you, but the way the light used to fall across the floorboards at four in the afternoon, illuminating dust motes that…
Fireworks at Dashehra Diwali Mela by Matthew OrlinskiSparks in the Dark
I spent half of this morning trying to fix a string of lights that refused to turn on. I sat on the floor, untangling the wires, feeling a bit annoyed at how easily things break. Then, I looked up and saw the dust motes dancing in a sliver…