The Pale Letter
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and white, erasing the line where the water met the sky. You stood at the edge of the pier, your breath shallow in the cold air. The letter in your hand was damp. It had been in your pocket for three days, but the paper was wet now, soft as skin. You did not open it. You knew what it said. You had read it once, in the small hours of the night, by the...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση