The Rhythm of Unbound Breath
The smell of dry grass, crushed and sun-baked, clings to my skin long after the wind has passed. It is a sharp, sweet scent—the smell of earth that has never known a fence. I remember the feeling of running until my lungs burned, that specific,…
The Weight of Golden Hours
I keep a small, pressed leaf inside the pages of a book I rarely open anymore. It is brittle now, a skeleton of veins that crumbles if I press too hard, yet it holds the exact shade of a September afternoon from twenty years ago. We spend our…
The White Breath
The world has been erased.
It is not a disappearance, but a softening. A heavy blanket pulled over the shoulders of the earth. We walk through it, or we watch it pass, and for a few heartbeats, the noise of our own existence is muffled.…