The Faded Road
You tell me you are dying, but your voice is steady, almost amused, as if sharing a joke about the weather. We are walking the high ridge above the valley where the mist hangs low and thick, smelling of wet earth and decay. I am walking behind you, my boots crunching on the gravel, but I can feel the weight of your gaze on the back of my neck. You are the one who sees the things that should not...
0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 6 Views 0 Vista previa