The Faded Photograph
The coat hangs on the hook. It is heavy. Wool. Dark green. Faded at the elbows. You touch it. The fabric is cold. It remembers the cold. You are in a room in Prague. Or Vienna. It does not matter. The city is gray. The sky is low. You are not from here. You never were. You left. You ran. You are an exile. The word feels like a stone in your mouth. Hard. Unyielding. You have been away for twenty...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen