The Wistful Show
You wake in the dark. Not the dark of sleep, but the heavy, velvet dark of a room where the air is still and thick with dust. You do not open your eyes. You know the shape of the ceiling by heart. You know the weight of the silence. It presses against your eardrums like deep water. You are old. Your hands are mapped with veins, blue and thin, like riverbeds seen from a great height. You pull...
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