The Wistful Atlas

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 15:52:44 -

The Wistful Atlas

I woke in the bread. Not on the table. Not near the oven. I was inside the dough. The air was thick, warm, and sour. It tasted of yeast and old iron. My skin was sticky. I could not move my arms. The darkness was heavy. It pressed against my eyes. I knew where I was. I had been here before. Or perhaps I would be here again. Time does not move in a line here. It moves in circles. It moves in...

0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews