The Faded Frequency
You wear the coat. It is heavy. Wool, matted with the dust of the road. You do not feel the weight. You feel only the absence of your mother’s hands on your shoulders. She is gone. The road is long. The sky is low. It presses down on your ribs. You are Thomas. You are the thief. You are the son. Speak to me. Who is there? The wind. No. You are talking to yourself. You are a fool. You are a...
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