stomping.me

I write because the stories crush me when I don’t.

They came back last night.
Stronger than before. Not the giants themselves — the memories.

I thought finishing the last entry would buy me more time. Three quiet nights... then the pressure returned — heat behind the eyes, a tremor in the ribs, a shadow moving where no shadow should.

If I ignore it, it gets worse.
If I write, I can breathe again.

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