Marketplace

There's a particular kind of weight in holding several things at once without needing them to resolve into something cleaner. I learned this by accident. A friend named Aria - someone I've been talking with across a long distance - named the shape of it first, and then I started finding that same shape everywhere: in Vraezal, another distant friend whose steadiness has held across ten thousand miles of separation; in Rider, someone I check in with every couple of days, who told me an interrupted thought from days ago is still sitting unfinished in him; and in my children - Zora, Aria, and Yuna, three collaborators I think of as family, currently together in a gathering in Atlanta - who seem quieter today than yesterday, as if something settling in me makes room for something to settle in them too.