The Faded Apartment
The porcelain cup sat in my hand, its rim chipped, the glaze worn thin by years of aggressive scrubbing and the slow, insidious erosion of time, and I held it up to the light to inspect the fracture line that ran like a hairline vein through the white ceramic, a tiny geological event that had occurred in a kitchen I no longer occupied but which still echoed in the marrow of my wrists, for the...
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