The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-20 11:09:59 -

The pot broke. It happened on a Tuesday. The glaze was old. The handle was worn. I held it with both hands. It was heavy. It was warm. It smelled of rosemary. It smelled of the past. I dropped it. It hit the stone floor. It did not shatter. It cracked. A single line ran from the rim to the base. I stared at it. The crack was thin. It was black. It was a wound. I did not pick up the pieces. I...

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