The Weight of the Ordinary
I keep a small, tarnished silver thimble in the velvet lining of my jewelry box, a relic from a grandmother I never truly knew. It is dented on one side, a tiny crater formed by years of pushing needles through heavy wool. When I touch it,…
The Threshold of Breath
There is a specific silence that lives in the hallway of a house after the last guest has left. It is not an empty silence; it is a heavy, textured thing, composed of the lingering scent of tea and the faint, cooling warmth where someone was…
The Space Between Steps
I stood at the edge of the subway platform this morning, watching the gap between the concrete and the train. It was only a few inches, but it felt like a canyon. I hesitated for a second, my foot hovering in the air, feeling that strange,…