The Wistful Letter
The train shudders. It is a sound in your bones, a low groan of iron on iron. You press your face to the cold glass. The fog outside is thick, gray, and wet. It eats the world whole. You are not afraid. You are not even certain you are awake. But your hands are shaking. They shake because of the letter. It is in your pocket. It is soft now. The edges are worn thin. The paper feels like skin...
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