Still President

It still sounds wrong when I say it. Trump’s president. After everything—the scandals, the chaos, things that should’ve ended it—he’s still there.

The people holding on live somewhere else. Everything reaches them as confirmation. You point at something and they see it differently, and inside their bubble both feel equally real. You can’t reach through that.

I thought this would break eventually. That a lie this big, this exposed, eventually cracks under its own weight. But I don’t know anymore. Maybe this is how things are now—everyone in separate realities, none interested in the others. Maybe he wins again. Maybe it just goes on like this forever.

And it still sounds wrong.