The Distant Promise
You have always known, with the bone-deep certainty of a tide pulling at the sand, that the porcelain cup in your hand is cracked, though the glaze hides the fracture from the casual eye, and you hold it with a delicacy that borders on worship, terrified that a single tremor in your fingers will shatter the illusion of wholeness that has sustained you through the long, gray winters of this...
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