The Wistful Campus
The ink is black. It is not dry yet. It runs down the page like a small, dark tear. You watch it spread. The paper is thick. It is the kind they use for official documents. For verdicts. You hold the pen. Your hand does not shake. It never shakes. You have learned to control the muscles in your fingers. You have learned to control the breath in your lungs. You have learned to disappear. The...
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