The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-17 18:30:24 -

The letter lay on the table. It was not paper. It was skin. Pale. Thin. Translucent. I saw the veins. Blue threads. Like frost. On a window. In winter. In my home. In my house. I did not touch it. I could not. My hands were full. Full of dust. Full of regret. Full of the year. The year I left. The year I came back. The year I stayed. The ink was dark. Black as night. Black as blood. Black as...

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