They Always Leave

In just a mere 36 hours we will be crossing the tense threshold of metal detectors and security guards, amid blaring intercoms that beg the presence of untimely passengers. Having fully accepted that what lies ahead is entirely beyond my expectations, I can only be sure of my crossed fingers, praying that the detectors remain…

A Memory of Mountains

  We used to be something. I could’ve told you to the second from the shadow of a pine when the rain would come down and in the winter, the light of the sun used to spill a red hail of ochre she heard our conversations, and wanted to remind us that color hadn’t died…