The Weight of Stone
I keep a small, smooth river stone on my desk, worn perfectly round by a current I will never see. It is heavy for its size, a dense anchor of silence that reminds me how much of the world exists entirely without our permission. We spend our…
Eyes That See Further
I spent this morning trying to reach the top shelf in my kitchen. I was standing on my tiptoes, stretching my fingers, feeling frustrated that I couldn't quite grab the jar I needed. It made me think about how much of our lives are spent looking…
The Weight of Stillness
The smell of cold glass against a forehead is a specific kind of loneliness. It is the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of a city that has forgotten your name. I remember leaning against a bus window when I was younger, the vibration…