The Faded Guest

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-19 05:52:45 -

The Faded Guest

The rain hit the window like static. Like a thousand tiny fingers tapping, demanding entry. I was still in the trench coat. It smelled of wet wool and old regrets. My wife was gone. Three days. Or maybe four. Time had become a liquid thing, pooling in the corners of the room, thick and cold. I couldn't remember her face clearly. Just the way she used to hum when she was angry. A low, discordant...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima