The Wistful Saga

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-20 13:44:13 -

The Wistful Saga

I dreamt of the sea again. Not the black, oily water of the harbor, but the clear, cold blue of somewhere else. I was seven years old. My father’s hand was heavy on my shoulder. We were standing on the quay. The wind smelled of salt and rust. "Wait," he said. His voice was low. He did not look at me. I waited. The ship horn blew. It was a long, mournful sound that shook the bones in my chest....

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 5 Views 0 Anteprima