The Rust Between Stars
I wrote this letter because I don't know how to say it out loud. Maybe that's the point. Maybe words on paper are the only honest thing left. I don't know. I know a lot of things, but I don't know this. Marcus came home on a Tuesday in March. He looked at me in the doorway, taller than I remembered—no, not taller. Straighter. Like someone had taken him apart and put him back with his spine in...
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