The Faded Frequency
The rain hits the windowpane. It is a heavy, grey drizzle. It has been raining for three days. I am sitting in the corner of my room. The walls are thin. I can hear the city outside. The traffic hums like a low bee. It is a sound I used to ignore. Now it screams at me. I am a prisoner. Not in a cell. Not with bars. I am in my own skin. My own mind. The glass in front of me is my mirror. I look...
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