The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 03:29:58 -

The Wistful Petal

"You are a house," I said. He looked at me. He did not blink. His eyes were wet, like old glass. "I am not a house," he whispered. "You are the walls," I said. "I am the wind." He smiled. It was a small, broken thing. A crack in the plaster. "Wind leaves," he said. "Wind does not stay." "I stay," I said. "I am the draft." He nodded. He nodded slowly. He knew. He always knew. But he did not say...

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