The Wistful Atlas

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 13:27:47 -

The Wistful Atlas

The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell with a steady, indifferent rhythm against the tin roof of the station. I stood on the platform, watching the steam curl from the locomotive. My coat was thin. The wind cut through it. I held my bag tight. Inside was a glass mirror. Small. Circular. The rim was brass. It had belonged to my father. He had polished it every morning. He had looked...

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