masculine solitude
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Another Take
I wrote this on a day when the city felt finished with me and I felt finished with it. There’s no revelation here. Just fatigue, awareness, and the dull pressure of continuing anyway. It’s about staying conscious long enough not to lie to yourself. Continue reading
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the day forgot my name
I wrote this while moving forward without a clear reason to do so. It stays with dislocation, endurance, and the pressure of existing without instruction. Nothing resolves here. I don’t arrive anywhere. I keep going because stopping feels like a worse lie. Continue reading
Shayan Afzal 