The Wistful Campus

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:28:37 -

The dream was of feathers. They fell from a sky that was not blue but the color of old bruised plums. I was standing in a courtyard of white stone. The stones were cold. I held a bird in my hands. It was a sparrow. No, it was not a sparrow. It was something else. Something small and fragile. I did not know its name. I knew it would break. I woke in the dark. The room was small. It smelled of...

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