There is only so much emotion a person can hold within the fragile chambers of their own body. Only so much we can dig through the depths of ourselves to make sense of every emotional collision, or explain how a forgotten memory suddenly breaks the surface and slips back into our present, uninvited and unannounced. Emotions do not simply arrive and disappear; they linger like permanent guests in the homes we inhabit, guests we never intentionally invited but who stay for reasons we still try to understand. From the minute we open our eyes to the moment we surrender to sleep, their presence is felt on the couch where we once cried, or on the bed where we spent hours breathing, meditating, and stitching ourselves back together. Our homes hold our emotions just as tenderly as our bodies do. They remember where we broke, where we found solace, where we pieced ourselves together again, and where we bowed in prayer and pressed our foreheads to the ground. And in these homes, some rugs hold us as we cry, rest, meditate, or pray in humility. At the opening night of…
