The Wistful Campus
The rain hits the glass. It is cold. You are wet. Not from the rain. From inside. The office smells of stale coffee and fear. You sit at the desk. The desk is oak. It is heavy. You are not heavy. You are light. You are air. Look at the window. The ivy grows. It climbs. It grips the brick. It does not ask permission. It just grows. You watch it. You know it well. It is you. You are it. The vines...
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