The Texture of Failure
I am a piece of 80gsm bond paper, currently crumpled into a tight, suffocating sphere. I remember the feeling of the pen—a sharp, insistent pressure that carved a world of ambition into my fibers. He called it "The Master Plan." For hours, I felt the heat of his hand and the frantic rhythm of his breathing. He wrote of empires, of legacies, of a life that would echo through centuries. I was...
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