The Faded Portrait
The train leaves without you. You stand on the platform. The air is cold. It bites your skin. You do not feel it. You hold the glass. It is small. It is round. It is a beetle. No. It is a seed. It is green. It is cracked. You are a scholar. You study the past. You look at dust. You look at old paper. You look for meaning in dead things. You are tired. Your bones ache. The years have taken you....
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