The Faded Bouquet

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-19 08:55:08 -

The Faded Bouquet

The frost bit deep into the iron railing. I held it with both hands, my knuckles white, my breath a sharp plume in the violet dark. Above, the house breathed. Not the settling of old wood, not the wind through the eaves, but a rhythmic, wet inhalation. A pulse. I am a man of glass. I have spent forty years shaping it, blowing it into forms that trap light and hold air. But tonight, I was not...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima