The Pale Bonsai

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2026-08-20 11:57:30 -

The Pale Bonsai

The dust in the study does not settle. It hangs in the slant of afternoon light like a suspension of ghosts, or perhaps merely of time, made visible. You sit at the desk, the leather worn soft by decades of your own hands, and you watch a single mote drift. It catches the sun and burns for a second before fading into the grey. You are sixty-four. The number feels less like a fact and more like...

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