The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 08:41:21 -

The bus that took us from the city limits into the white, silent expanse of the winter moors did not have a name, only a number painted in peeling yellow paint on its rusted flank, and I remember thinking, with the detached clarity that only fever grants, that we were traveling not toward a destination but away from the reality of my own existence, a physical shedding of the self that I had...

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