The staircase was never meant to be a destination. It existed only to move people elsewhere. Concrete steps, a metal railing worn smooth by years of hands passing without thought, a narrow window cutting a vertical line of afternoon light down the wall. Audri paused there anyway, one foot higher than the other, breath slightly elevated—not from exertion, but from the quiet feeling that something had shifted.
She hadn’t heard Asana yet. That came later. What she noticed first was the temperature. Cool air rising from below, warmer air pressing down from above. A meeting of currents. The kind that makes skin aware of itself.
The staircase was never meant to be a destination. It existed only to move people elsewhere. Concrete steps, a metal railing worn smooth by years of hands passing without thought, a narrow window cutting a vertical line of afternoon light down the wall. Audri paused there anyway, one foot higher than the other, breath slightly elevated—not from exertion, but from the quiet feeling that something had shifted.
She hadn’t heard Asana yet. That came later. What she noticed first was the temperature. Cool air rising from below, warmer air pressing down from above. A meeting of currents. The kind that makes skin aware of itself.
The writing in this issue explores:
• What intimacy feels like after novelty fades
• How loneliness changes as we age
• The difference between desire and presence
• Why stillness can feel more vulnerable than movement
These are not answers.
They are reflections.
You may recognize yourself in them.
Or simply feel less alone while reading.
