Before The Collector was written, it was lived; first in a small moment, and then in the realization that it wasn’t so small after all. There is a subtle shift I’ve begun to notice in the way people speak about what belongs to others. Not openly, not in the language of theft or even envy, but in something quieter—more assumed. A sense that what another person has should not remain solely theirs. That it ought, in some way, to be redistributed, shared, or relinquished. Not as an act of generosity, but as an expectation.