The Faded Frequency
The rain does not fall so much as it is delivered, a relentless, high-pressure injection of grey water into the porous skin of the Appalachian foothills, washing the world clean of its distinct edges until everything bleeds into a singular, monochromatic smear of mud and memory. You are writing this down because if you do not pin the event to the page, it will evaporate into the static that now...
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