The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-18 17:57:02 -

You dream of glass. Not the clear kind. Not the wine or the window. But the dark, thick glass of old bottle bottoms. They crunch under your feet. They glitter in the rain. You are old in the dream. Your hands are gnarled. You hold a shard. It is cold. It is sharp. You do not bleed. You wake. The room is cold. The fire is dead. Ashes only. You sit up. Your back aches. It is a dull pain. A...

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