The Golden Echoes
You sit on the edge of the bed in the sterile white room at St. Jude’s, the linoleum cold through your thin cotton trousers, and you watch the dust motes dance in the single shaft of sunlight that pierces the heavy velvet curtains, knowing with a certainty that has settled into your bones like a splinter that refuses to draw out that you are not the first to sit here, and you will not be the...
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