Three

I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore. Birthdays used to be charming. Predictable. That manufactured joy people mistake for ritual. Candles, cake, the socially mandated chorus of people singing at you while you pretend not to feel awkward. Back then, it

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The Myth of Time

Time has never felt linear to me. I don’t mark it by birthdays or calendars or the ever-mounting list of holidays we’re expected to care about. I measure it in ruptures. In before and afters. In sharp turns, silences, and

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