The Wistful Voyage

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-20 01:23:17 -

The coat hangs on the hook by the door. It is heavy, woolen, and dark as a bruise. I have worn it for ten years. It smells of coal dust and old blood. The house is silent. The clock ticks. The rain hits the glass. I am alone. The coat is my skin. It is my shield. It is my shame. I sit at the kitchen table. The wood is worn smooth by years of elbows. I look at my hands. They are rough. They are...

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