The Faded Attic
You keep the jar of apricot preserves on the highest shelf, the one that catches the dust motes dancing in the sliver of light that pierces the attic’s gloom, and you tell yourself that if you just look at it long enough, the memory of the sweet, cloying smell will return, and with it, the man who made it. It is a silly thing to do, really, sitting in the cramped space above your sister’s...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση