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  • No Forwarding Address

    The mail kept coming. Suddenly, you stop calling them by the name you had for them, and you start calling them by their government name. Then you drop the first name. Eventually, the only thing that remains is the last name you see in the mailbox. It happens without ceremony. The envelopes arrive between electric…

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  • The Beginning of the end.

    New Orleans is different before dawn. The drunks have mostly surrendered. The tourists are asleep beneath hotel sheets they will complain about at checkout. And the dead finally have the streets to themselves. I had one thing left to do before I left. The cemetery gates were still locked when I arrived, which felt appropriate.…

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  • The Key at the Front Door

    Everybody is willing to hate you until they need you again by then the relationship has changed. Not ended. Changed. There is a difference. Endings have funerals. Flowers. Black dresses. Dirt thrown over something everyone has agreed is dead. Change is crueler. Change leaves the body sitting at the dinner table. It lets the conversation…

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  • There is a strange rule that governs every meaningful relationship in this life. If I cannot teach you something…If I cannot show you something…If I cannot help carry a piece of your burden… Then eventually I become decoration. If you cannot teach me…If you cannot sharpen me…If you cannot challenge me to become something greater…

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  • There’s a strange thing about people who can’t move on. They don’t leave.Not physically. Not energetically. Not mentally. They just… reposition themselves. They stand outside windows that don’t belong to them anymore, convincing themselves they still recognize the furniture inside. They narrate lives they are no longer part of.They build entire stories off fragments they…

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  • I stood there above your ghost, watching for months as the demons ravaged your body. Alone inside your own head, trying to figure out whether you were listening to the voices or becoming one of them. Tapping on the door three times before you turned the lights out, like a ritual, like superstition was the…

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  • Some places remember us longer than we remember ourselves.Some doors keep the shape of a hand that once closed them.Some rooms still hum with old conversations, even after the voices have changed. You returned, not to reclaim anything, but to understand.To see if the imprint of the past still lived here in quiet corners —if…

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