The Wistful Ashes
The glass breaks first. Not with a sound, but with a release. You feel it in the fingertips, that sudden absence of resistance. The object is a vessel. It was blue. It is now a thousand shards of ice-blue ruin scattered across the gravel road. You do not move. You stand in the center of the white line, holding nothing. Your hands are empty. Your hands are open. The wind picks up. It carries the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima