Our Ghosts Are Present Tense
Prague's morning folds like an old letter, its edges softened by time and loss, a city of survived silences, trams tracking scars across cobbled skin. I'm…
politics :(A collection of 2 posts
Last Flight Out
The plane lifts— beneath us, the country shrinks to shapes that don’t know our names, and I count the ways this could be the last time: my lungs, or…