We measure our lives in rotations and revolutions. Earth spins through darkness into light every twenty-four hours, giving us the rhythm of waking and sleeping, the pulse of day and night that structures consciousness itself. The planet tilts and orbits, creating summer and winter, the death of leaves and their return. These cycles feel eternal…

There is a brief, unsettling moment when you wake up from a dream and still don’t know who you’re meant to be. Both the wakeful and dream worlds are equally true in that liminal space. The pillow you’re holding and the lover who just left your arms have the same ontological weight. No less real…

Just heard Grandma let out a rather sudden hiss that cut through the afternoon quiet like a blade through silk. She is sitting alone at the kitchen table, no book before her, no radio playing, no conversation partner to provoke displeasure. Yet something has reached across time to touch her – some fragment of memory…