The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 07:23:18 -

The Distant Wound

The dream always began with the smell of wet loam and the slow, rhythmic thrumming of a heart that was not mine. I was standing in a field of black soil, endless and dark, and from the earth rose a single stalk of wheat, pale gold and rigid, swaying in a wind that I could feel against my skin but not see. It did not bend. It did not break. It simply existed, a constant point in a universe of...

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