The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 17:21:45 -

We left on a Tuesday. The rain was thin. It misted the window. I held your hand. You pulled away. I let go. The train whistle blew. It was a long sound. It cut the air. We stood on the platform. The crowd was thick. Faces blurred. I looked at you. You looked at the tracks. The steam rose. It curled like smoke. It smelled of coal. It smelled of old paper. This was our home. It was also our...

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