A scent can undo us. The cologne left in on a note in a sealed envelope, the aroma of their favorite food, the way a certain flower shifts the air. What remains in smell is closeness you can’t hold, but can’t deny.
Read MoreI used to equate distance with absence. But absence is only absence when you’re unsure. This isn’t that.
Tuesday Afternoon Sensory Input
Sight.
Her face appears pixel by pixel, slow-loading clarity from another continent. Sunlight in Senegal catches the edge of her cheekbone, and even through the screen, she glows. The image stutters, lag. Then smooths. Then laughter. The miles dissolve in a smile I’ve memorized.
Read More
