The Faded Portrait

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-20 01:23:20 -

You ride the horse. It is a thin thing. Its ribs show like the strings of a broken harp. The road is long. It stretches out before you. It does not end. You do not look back. You cannot. The sun is high. It burns your neck. The air is hot. It tastes of dust. You are in the city. It is old. It is stone. It is grey. The walls are high. They touch the sky. You feel small. You feel watched. Your...

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