The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-17 11:58:25 -

The bread was black. I held it in my hand. It was warm. It smelled of ash. And of honey. I am not a saint. I am not a villain. I am just hungry. The room is white. Not the white of snow. Not the white of paper. It is the white of bone. It is the white of absence. I sit on a chair. The chair is made of glass. It is cold. It cuts into my thighs. I do not move. I cannot move. My legs are lead. My...

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