The Weight of a Petal
My grandmother’s kitchen table was once covered in a lace cloth that smelled perpetually of dried lavender and old paper. It is gone now, replaced by a surface that does not hold the history of her hands or the specific, rhythmic tapping…
The Glass Between Us
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, wondering why we spend our lives trying to touch things that are meant to stay behind a barrier. We want to hold the cold, to press our skin against the winter, forgetting…
A Walk to Home by Sunando RoyThe Weight of the Way
Seneca once remarked that it is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, who is poor. We often mistake the accumulation of burdens for the accumulation of life, forgetting that the path toward home is best traveled with…