The Dreamer Hanged - In the Mirror's Glare

    Some months don’t pass—they fracture. March didn’t move forward; it spiraled inward, folding time like pages in a forgotten book. In reflections, I saw not just myself, but the war I’ve been quietly living in. Between the ticking of clocks I no longer trust and the dreams that speak in riddles, I walked a path made of prayer, silence, and untold scripts each written in healing and longing.