The Faded Sutra
I dreamed of a white coat that did not end, a long, billowing sleeve that stretched across the horizon like a frozen river, its fabric woven from the static of a thousand unmade decisions. I was wearing it, or perhaps it was wearing me, the buttons cold against my skin, each one a small, hard tooth biting into the flesh of my chest. In the dream, the air smelled of ozone and old paper, the...
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