The Wistful Silence
The glass was cold. I touched the pane. It was ancient. Stone. Moss. My hand pressed flat. The reflection stared back. Eyes wide. Lips parted. A stranger. Not me. Or was it? The tower stood alone. High. Cold. I climbed. Step by step. Stone. Dust. Breath. Short. Quick. The air was thin. Sharp. It cut. My lungs burned. I did not stop. I could not stop. The silence was loud. It hummed. A low...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior