The Faded Guest
You are standing on the balcony. The city hums below. It is loud. It is dirty. You hold the jar. The glass is cold. Your fingers are white. Inside, the moth flaps. It is a Luna moth. Its wings are pale green. They look like stained glass. They look like old money. It is dead. Or it is dying. You cannot tell. You are not sure you want to know. The door opens behind you. You do not turn. You know...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews