The Golden Song
The rain hits the tin roof of the signal box with a rhythm that feels less like weather and more like a countdown, a relentless, metallic ticking that marks the seconds you have left before the fog swallows the valley whole. You stand at the window, your hand resting on the cold glass, feeling the vibration of the tracks beneath the earth, a low hum that travels up through the soles of your...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 2 Views 0 önizleme