Through the Blind Eye
The world is not made of colors, but of temperatures. My brother, Leo, smells like ozone and old leather, and he feels like a steady, humming heat. When he is happy, he is a gentle hearth. When he is angry, he is a forest fire. I have been blind since the day I was born, but in the shadows of New York, I see more than the sighted. I see the "Heat-maps" of the city—the pulsing arteries of the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews