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Personal Reflection

It opens like a witness statement. Not poetic in the delicate sense—more like something recorded because it had to be said. There’s no distance in it. Just observation, raw and immediate.

There’s a weight to seeing things clearly—especially when what you see isn’t something you can fix.

I’ve had moments like that. Watching someone unravel in slow motion. Not all at once—just small fractures over time. The missed calls. The change in tone. The way they stop showing up the way they used to.

And you notice it. You feel it. But there’s this quiet helplessness that comes with it. Because awareness doesn’t always come with power.

That’s the part Ginsberg captures. Not just the destruction—but the act of witnessing it. The inability to turn away once you’ve seen it for what it is.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud.

It’s slow.

And it stays with you.

Maybe the hardest part isn’t the madness itself.
Maybe it’s carrying the memory of it.

Knowing what someone was…
and what they became.

Not trying to rewrite it.
Not trying to soften it.

Just holding the truth of it—
even when it doesn’t resolve into anything clean.

Because some things aren’t meant to be fixed.
Only remembered.

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Reflective Prompt

What have you witnessed that you can’t unsee—and how has it changed you?