The Architecture of a Breath
We carry our histories in the way we hold our shoulders, a map of every burden we have ever agreed to shoulder. There is a particular geometry to exhaustion, a way the spine curves to accommodate the weight of years, as if the body itself is…
The Quiet Persistence of Form
I have always been wary of the word beauty. It is a lazy term, a shorthand we use when we want to stop looking, when we want to settle for the first thing that pleases the eye. My impulse is to peel back the surface, to find the friction, the…
The Weight of Unfinished Motion
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, thinking about how we spend our entire lives in transit. We are always between places, between decisions, between the person we were ten minutes ago and the one we…