The Wistful Letter

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:29:16 -

The train slows. You are tired. The glass is cold against your cheek. Outside, the trees are black ribs against a grey sky. They scrape. They moan. You watch them. You count them. One. Two. Three. Four. You look down. The coat. It is red. It is old. It is yours. It has always been yours. You bought it when you were seven. Your mother paid for it. She said it was for luck. She was wrong. Luck...

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