In the dim halo around Babushka’s rocking chair, a man pleads for a single nod that will never come. His monologue drifts between heartbreak and the deeper terror of becoming irrelevant in a universe that refuses to speak. What unfolds is not a search for comfort but a confrontation with silence itself—the kind that swallows every question and leaves a man facing the truth that meaning is never given, only begged for, and rarely received. … More A Home Built on Quicksand