Memory is a living thing, shifting shape as time passes. What remains are the vivid moments, the small gestures, the glances and whispers that shaped us. In memory, love endures, teaching us that those we carry with us never truly leave.
Read MoreWhat remains implies not only that there was a past but that someone will be waiting in the future, ready and willing to bear witness to that past.
I was born into a world molded under the weight of war and conflict. Someone first had to teach me this about the world.
In elementary school, I asked my fourth grade history teacher why we only ever talked about wars. I didn’t understand why wars had to shape my understanding of the past or initiate me to the present…
Read MoreThe tree doesn’t know why I pour coffee at its base. Its branches lean over my mother’s grave. Coffee was her Sunday morning drink. After her Saturday evening wine.
“Don’t break my heart, boy.”
Read MoreStories outlive us. They get passed around like hand-me-downs… told at cookouts, whispered at funerals, exaggerated over time. What remains in stories is how we stay alive in each other’s mouths, stitched together by memory and myth.
Read MoreThis gift of extra days stretched wide and warm, full of stillness, movement, and the women who shape my world. The kind of company that asks for nothing but your presence. I started Friday by honoring my commitment to the YMCA, a place that's become more than work since I began there in November, but a community of familiar faces and shared purpose. My 10 AM finish gave me the perfect window for the three-hour journey to Snellville and my waiting family. They’re vegetarians and lovers of good food—we’ve always shared that language. They prepared a beautiful meal, and we broke bread with gratitude and laughter.
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