Observations
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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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A note on space, age, and consideration. I take the bus twice a day, often enough that it has stopped feeling like a means of transportation and started behaving like a small, predictable ecosystem. The same seats fill first. The same stops release people in the same order. Patterns form quietly, without anyone ever agreeing…
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A small moment I didn’t think about until I did. I brushed my hair for the first time in a while and only noticed afterward.The brush was heavy with it — old strands of hair, pale and dark, layered over one another, climbing out of its bristles and winding around the handle like something trying…
Analog nights 