Guilt has a shape people recognise. It points. It names a moment, a choice, a sentence you wish you could pull back into your mouth. It sits beside the story of you, like a stain you can describe without touching it. Shame doesn’t sit beside anything. It spreads. It isn’t interested in what happened so … Read more
Revenge shows up with a strange confidence. It doesn’t knock. It doesn’t ask whether you’re decent. It just arrives as an image, already lit, already moving, and for a moment it feels clean. You can know it’s wrong and still feel it take up space. Knowing doesn’t always touch the part of you that’s still … Read more
Shame doesn’t always arrive with evidence. Sometimes it shows up like a smell you can’t locate, and you start checking yourself anyway. You replay the day, your words, your face, the angle of your silence, hunting for the crime that would justify the heat in your chest. It’s strange to be accused from the inside. … Read more