Journal Entries
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On holding something irreversible. The first time I shot a gun, it wasn’t a small one. It was an M95 — heavy, black, unmistakably military. The kind of weapon whose shape alone tells you it was designed for places where words have already failed. I remember the weight of it before anything else. How it…
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There are days where nothing particulary remarkable happens, and yet everything feels faintly annotated.The light through the window lingers longer than expected. A song ends too soon. Coffee cools untouched beside an open book. I’ve been thinking about how often I notice things I never mention out loud.Small details feel safer when they stay unspoken…
Analog nights 