Most of what gets posted here follows collapse.
Not the imagined kind — the real thing.
Democracy unraveling in plain sight. Law turning selective. Families fracturing over what used to be shared ground. The slow normalization of things that should stop your breath.
I didn’t plan for the blog to become about that.
It just kept happening.
Each time something broke — a law, a silence, a promise — I’d feel it in my chest. And then I’d remember: I have a place to say it. A place to mark it. Not for reach. Not for reaction. Just so it doesn’t pass by unrecorded.
But it’s not only about collapse.
Some posts are just about trying to stay sane.
About what it means to live far away from home when home no longer feels like one.
About grief, memory, distance.
Sometimes even small moments of calm. A walk. A realization. A flash of something that mattered, if only for a breath.
I don’t write on a schedule. I don’t take comments.
There’s no audience strategy here.
Just one voice, watching the wreckage, trying to stay honest.
If you’ve found this — by accident, by search, by some quiet need to see if anyone else still sees it too — welcome.
You don’t have to say anything.
Just read. Or don’t.
This is the trace I’m leaving behind.
In case the silence wins.
In case it doesn’t.