The Wistful Saga
We have been walking for what feels like the better part of a lifetime, though my watch, which stopped ticking the moment the artillery shelled the bridge behind us, insists it is only mid-afternoon, a fact that seems to belong to a different, quieter world where clocks still have authority over the human soul. The road is a ribbon of packed mud stretching out into a fog so thick and white it...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews