The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 14:53:11 -

The Distant Wound

The train smells of wet wool and iron. You are on it. You are always on it. The car is a box of steel and shadow, sliding through a landscape that has no names. You do not know where you are. You do not know where you are going. You only know that you are moving, and that the movement is a kind of breathing. You look at your hands. They are clean. That is the first thing you notice. They are...

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