The Distant Affair
The coat is not merely fabric and thread; it is the skin of a second self, woven from the silence of your mother’s final days, a heavy, velvet shroud that you have worn since the funeral, pressing against your chest like a sleeping beast. You are walking now, through the grey, indifferent sprawl of the city at night, the neon lights bleeding into the wet pavement, reflecting your own hollowed...
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