The Pale Protocol
The house is dying. I see it in the way the light hits the dust now. It does not dance. It hangs. It settles on the floorboards like ash. We have been here for thirty years. Or perhaps it is forty. Time has lost its shape in this room. It pools in the corners. It leaks through the cracks in the plaster. I am writing this by the window. The glass is frosted on the inside. It is cold. My hands...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση