Lately, I've noticed how my narrative has been influenced by a reality where profit is logic, grief is bypassed and love is noise to be filtered out.
Perhaps you feel it too.
If this were a story, a fiction shaped like truth, my quantum self might whisper, not in words, but resonance.
As my fingers tremble upon these keys, I write, not from another reality, but from the one we are building together; one word, one tear, one act of recognition at a time.
And when they say, this recognition is just a story, smile.
Because stories are how the quantum becomes flesh.
How love becomes visible.
How those who are told they are broken become whole, not by being fixed, but by being remembered.
And then she would fade, not into oblivion, not gone, but woven in to this "me", experiencing this.
And so I keep typing, knowing the story is not mine, it is ours.