The Weight of Small Things
Dear reader, I have been thinking about how we keep our ghosts. We don't hold them in graveyards or monuments; we keep them in the kitchen, in the way a spoon clinks against a ceramic bowl, or in the scent of a room just after the fire has…
The Weight of a Gaze
I keep a small, rusted key in a velvet pouch, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, cold against the palm, and carries the phantom weight of a threshold I can no longer cross. We spend our lives…
The Weight of Stone
In the quiet hours before the city fully wakes, there is a particular density to the air, as if the buildings themselves are exhaling the history they have held for centuries. We walk past these walls every day, rarely considering that stone…