The Wistful Atlas
You are breathing too loud, Thomas. I can hear it from here, the wet, ragged rasp of it against the dry air of the archive. Put the file down. No, not like that. Gently. You treat those documents like they are your own children, or perhaps like enemies you are trying to break. It does not matter. They are just paper. They are just dust and ink and the faint, sour smell of old fear. Look at me....
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews