I glow in the dark.

Not metaphorically. My eyes do it on their own. Cherenkov blue. The kind of light that shouldn’t belong in a living thing, but here we are.

This is where I keep the pieces.

The nights that stretched too long. The jobs that almost killed me. The cities that never quite fit. The seal who somehow did. The stupid, beautiful, terrifying decision to stop running and try to build something that stays.

You’ll find stories here. Some of them are true. Some of them are truer than the true ones. Mafia smoke and pirate salt and cults that promised paradise and delivered something else. Rain that wouldn’t stop. A kitchen that smelled like cinnamon.

I don’t update on a schedule. I update when the glow gets too bright to ignore.

If you’re here, you’re already in it with me.

Stay as long as you want.