The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-19 15:44:55 -

The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a fine, persistent mist that clung to the wool of my greatcoat. I stood on the platform. The air tasted of iron and wet concrete. My boots were heavy. The leather had cracked. I ignored the pain. It was a dull ache, familiar as a second heartbeat. I am old. That is the truth that sits in my chest like a stone. The years have not been kind....

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