The Wistful Mirror

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-17 23:41:50 -

The soup was thick. It clung to the spoon. It tasted of iron and old wood. I sat at the head of the table. My father was not there. The chair was empty. The cloth was still damp. I ate. I had to eat. Hunger is a thief. It picks the pockets of your dignity. It leaves you light. It leaves you hollow. The town was gray. The factories hummed a low, constant note. The air smelled of coal dust and...

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