Jasmine Titcomb

The story of a human on their way down to the ground -- a slow journey made dormant by the hum of a supportive crowd. They softened every warning, turned tremors into praise, wrapped the fall in velvet words and called it better days. Feet forget their urgency, eyes unlearned the sky, hands that once reached outward hung quiet at their sides. And somewhere in the stillness, a quieter truth was found-- not every voice that lifts you is meant to keep you sound. So down became a question, not...

I laid awake last night for the first time in I don't know when; drugs aren't kicking in -- and the silence had a pulse, a slow, unmedicated truth pressing against my ribs. No softened edges, no drifting off mid-thought -- just the weight of being here without a buffer. I counted breaths like they might carry me somewhere gentler, but they only brought me back again and again to the same unfiltered hour. And somewhere in that unrest was a quiet, unfamiliar thing -- not peace, but something...

An earth-side purgatory— moving in patterns, not knowing up from down. A tight rein and a narrow mind never serve what you want them to. They forget to say the North Star won’t take you home unless your feet are moving. And how do I do that?