The Wistful Letter
You are standing in the center of the room, and the air is thick, not with dust, but with the heavy, sweet rot of lilies that have been left too long in the vase, their petals blackening at the edges like old bruises, and you cannot move your legs, they are pinned to the floorboards by an invisible weight, a gravity that has nothing to do with the earth and everything to do with the fact that...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen