The Wistful Letter

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 01:53:10 -

The train shudders. You grip the rail. The cold bites your knuckles. You are moving. Always moving. The window is a black mirror. It reflects your face. It is a stranger’s face. Hollow eyes. A jaw set like stone. You are not who you were. You are what is left. The landscape blurs. Fields of grey stubble. Dead trees. The sky is a sheet of lead. It presses down. It weighs on your chest. You...

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