The Pale Bridge
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a thick, grey curtain that smothered the city of London in a silence so profound it felt like a held breath. I stood on the platform at King’s Cross, watching the steam rise from the tracks, my breath fogging the air before my face, and I felt the weight of my departure settle into my bones, a cold stone dropped into a deep well. I was leaving...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews