The Wistful Show
You leave before the fog lifts. The city is gray. It is always gray here. The air tastes of coal and wet stone. You pull your collar up. It does not help. The cold goes in. It settles in your bones. You are leaving. You must leave. You carry a box. It is heavy. It is full of words. Do not look back. If you look back, you will not be able to move. You know this. You have known it since you were...
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