Simon Simonian

Eternal Woman

In the middle of the dazed garden stands this four-storied cadaver of a building. Years ago, it was home to many residents: a couple of families, a few students and some retirees. Now the house is nothing more than a decrepit panorama for bleak clouds. Wild toadflax spreads through the …

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He Who Wanders

I missed the scorching wind of Andalusia. How it pours sunlight onto your face, toying with eyelashes, flattening dry sand against cheeks and milling around hair. I missed the smell of the valley and that ripening softness of Muscat fluff glistening in the afternoon breeze. From up here, I can …

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