
Collapse never feels like an ending, just a long slow inhale. We’re not rebuilding; we’re exhuming, brushing off the dirt of bones we once called walls, once called lives, once called “mine.”When the first brick moves, that’s the rebirth. Not because something new rises. Because something old refuses to stay dead. And that’s the trick:…

History speaks not, but coughs and hacks-up every modern opinion from the black lungs of those who died centuries ago. You think you formed views? Opinions? Are you sure about that? Nahโyou’re just an echo deciding what shape to take when it hits the present. A war’s resentment lands in a tweet, a plague’s silence…