The Wistful Skyline

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 22:08:33 -

The soup was warm, a thick, orange-red liquid that swirled in the ceramic bowl like a miniature sunset trapped in clay. I held it with both hands, the heat seeping into my palms, a small, fierce comfort against the chill of the room. My father sat across from me at the long, scarred oak table, his face obscured by the blue haze of his pipe smoke. He did not look up. He rarely looked up. We were...

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