The Wistful Show
The rain hits the window. It is hard. It is cold. It taps against the glass. I watch it. I am in the room. The room is grey. The walls are white. The light is dead. I am here. I am alone. I am not alone. I am with the sound. The sound is a drum. The drum beats. The drum does not stop. I look at my hands. They are still. They are pale. I look at the desk. The desk is wood. The wood is dark....
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