The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:16:40 -

The glass was cold. It was the only thing in the house that felt real. I held it against my cheek, feeling the jagged edge bite into the skin. A thin line of blood welled up, bright and warm. It ran down my jaw, mixing with the salt of the tears I had been holding back for three years. My name is Elias. I am leaving. The apartment is small. It smells of damp plaster and old paper. Outside, the...

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