I don’t think time is real anymore.
Not in the way they taught us. Not in the way it ticks by in calendars or clocks. Not in the way you try to grab onto a memory or plan a future and pretend like there’s a straight fucking line between them.
It’s not a line. It’s not even a circle. It’s a thread. And sometimes it coils around your throat. Sometimes it loops so tight you forget what came first—your trauma or your name.
Lately, I feel like I’ve been remembering things that never happened in this life. But I feel them. Not as thoughts. As textures. As echoes in my skin. I’ll be walking through my house and suddenly I’m back in some hallway that doesn’t exist, hearing voices I’ve never met but somehow already know. It’s like time is overlapping itself, layering in ways I can’t explain but can’t ignore…


It's this full moon. You are Dark Chosen as I am. We alchemise Darkness into Light.