(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Echo of Footsteps
I keep a small, rusted skeleton key in a velvet pouch, though I have no idea which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, cold to the touch, and worn smooth by hands that have long since turned to dust. There is a peculiar ache in holding…
The Architecture of Transit
We are all just seeds caught in the same wind, carried toward a destination we did not choose, yet must reach. There is a strange, quiet holiness in the way we press against one another in the dark—a tangle of roots beneath the soil, unseen…
The Mirror of the Dark
Seneca once observed that we are often more afraid than hurt, and that we suffer more in imagination than in reality. He understood that the darkness of the mind is a far more formidable terrain than the darkness of the world. When we find…