The World Behind the Glass
I was sitting on the floor this morning, trying to fold laundry, when I caught my nephew staring at a tablet. He was completely still. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were wide, reflecting a blue light that seemed to pull him entirely…
The Weight of Gravity
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am thinking about the things we try to keep suspended. We spend our lives fighting the inevitable pull of the earth, trying to hold onto moments that were never meant to stay still. We want…
The Salt on the Skin
The memory of summer is not a sight; it is the sting of salt drying on my shoulders and the sudden, sharp chill of water against overheated skin. I remember the way the air tasted—heavy with ozone and the metallic tang of wet concrete. There…