The Echo of a Hand
I was walking home from the grocery store earlier today when I saw an older couple crossing the street. They weren't holding hands, but they were walking in such perfect rhythm that it felt like they were tethered by an invisible string. It…
The Spine of the Sky
We build our monuments to touch the clouds, as if height could grant us a clearer view of our own smallness. There is a quiet arrogance in stone that reaches for the heavens, a desire to anchor the shifting air to the earth. Yet, the sky remains…
The Shape of Submergence
There is a specific weight to the water that once held my father’s watch. It was a heavy, silver thing that stopped ticking the moment it touched the salt of the Pacific, leaving behind a silence where the rhythmic pulse of the second hand…