The Distant Journey
The soup was hot. Marla stirred it. The spoon hit the ceramic side. *Clack.* She stirred again. The broth was thick with carrots. It was orange. It was sweet. It smelled like her mother’s kitchen in Ohio. It smelled like before. She lived in the house now. Not just in the room. In the bones of it. The walls held breath. The floorboards held weight. She was the house. The house was her. Her...
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