Treehouse: One Touchdown Behind

Hey,

Here I am, still wearing my Christopher Columbus costume, standing in the quiet of this bedroom while you stare at those election results. The world stage you dreamed of? It slipped right through your fingers. That endorsement—the one we all thought would turn the tide—backfired spectacularly. And, truth be told, it was on you. You know better than anyone how to navigate this game, how to choose your allies, but somehow, you didn’t.

You haven’t changed. Not really. You still surround yourself with the same kinds of boys—those you know you shouldn’t befriend, though I won’t get specific. It’s like watching a rerun of a show that never learns its lesson. And now, you’ve transitioned again, shifting shapes while the world watches, but the chaos keeps unfolding. Meanwhile, I’m here, stuck in this costume, a relic from another time, watching everything fall apart for you once more.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How the costumes we wear—literal or metaphorical—can become the only constants in a world that keeps spinning out of control. You’re out there, playing your part, but the script’s gone off the rails, and the audience is restless. I’m still here, a silent witness, wondering how many more acts this tragedy will have.

You had the chance to rewrite the story, to break the cycle. But some things don’t change, no matter how much the stage shifts beneath your feet. I hope you see it before it’s too late.

— The Basement