The Distant Garden
The hand was in the dream. My hand. But wrong. The knuckles were swollen. Purple. Split open. I woke up. The room was cold. Dark. The rain tapped the window. Soft. Rhythmic. Like a clock. Or a heart. I looked down. My hands were clean. Pale. Trembling. But whole. The dream had left a mark. A shadow on the skin. I sat up. The bed creaked. Old wood. Old town. Old life. I am Elias. I am forty...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen