It isn’t solitude that killsbut loneliness.Not the want of company,but the ache left by thosewho once knew your silenceswho once saw into your soul. You can stand in a room bursting with laughter and still feel no touch of being...

Smoke curls along the alley,  and in the shifting haze  a mural dragon stares down,  its scales chipped,  yet the gaze still remains—  a watcher above the street.    A café door swings open,  voices spill into the night,  debating ethics over bitter coffee,  their words rising,  then breaking apart  like...