It already happened, the gun’s still smoking. There are gaps in remembering. Whole sections are missing. The body holds on tightly. Reaction becomes instinct. Softness begins to feel like survival—covering what feels dangerous, holding what cannot be examined directly. Kindness and madness begin to resemble one another, my mind unable to separate the two. Evil does not require permission. Beneath careful surfaces something unsettled remains alive, watchful, and unresolved. Outside, the world is screaming with violence and despair. Inside, the struggle grows quieter and harder to measure, questions repeating without answer. Control slips away slowly, almost politely. Change arrives uninvited, rearranging all. Capturing what lives in this space: between knowing and not knowing, between care and withdrawal, between quiet and collapse. I can't help but see the evil we all have, some deeper than others. But even filled with lace and love, I am full of hate that occupies that same space. This is not absolute resolution, it is time passing without demanding sense, allowing it to exist loosely, if at all.