2 septembre 2026

My Son at the Table

Another child carefully described the smell of his mother’s cooking.

Simple things.

Safe things.

Things that meant belonging.

The Weight of a Word

Jonas didn’t move.

His pencil rested between his fingers, untouched.

The word home sat in front of him like something foreign—like a word from another language he had once known but no longer understood.

Because what was a home?

Was it the place you were born?

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