The Echo of Empty Pavements
I often find myself thinking about the rhythm of a city when the heartbeat stops. There is a particular street in Bochum, or perhaps it is just a street in my own memory, where the cobblestones usually hum with the friction of hurried lives.…
Here’s Looking at You by Martin MeyerThe Weight of the Small
I remember the blue ceramic bowl that sat on my grandmother’s kitchen counter for twenty years. It was never empty; it held loose change, keys, and the occasional dried petal from a garden that no longer exists. When she died, the bowl remained,…
A World of Octobers by Anna CicalaThe Season of Letting Go
Dear reader, I have been thinking about the way we hold onto things that were never meant to stay. We treat the turning of the leaves as a tragedy, a slow-motion departure of everything we found comfort in during the heat of the year. But perhaps…