The Distant Machine
The letter was found not in my pocket, nor in the desk drawer where I kept my service records, but folded inside the lining of my coat, a place I had not touched in seven years, a place where the wool had worn thin against the ribs, a place that held the scent of iron and old rain. It was written on paper so fine it felt like water, the ink a deep, bruised purple that seemed to pulse with a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen