The Wistful Saga
The clay jug did not shatter all at once, but rather in a series of small, silent failures that seemed to mimic the very erosion of my own days, beginning with a hairline fracture near the lip that I had noticed weeks ago but chosen to ignore, a choice that now feels less like negligence and more like a premonition of the inevitable dissolution of all things I held dear. I carried it with me...
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