The Wistful Petal
The glass is thin. You know this. You have tested its thickness with your fingernails a thousand times, tracing the hairline fracture that runs from the rim to the base. It is a small object, a tumbler of lead crystal, but it holds the weight of your existence. You sit in the corner of the room. The room is small. The walls are lined with acoustic foam, black and grey, swallowing sound. There...
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