The Wistful Show
The rain does not fall so much as it exists, a suspended, gray reality that presses against the windows of the penthouse where you sit, trapped not by bars of iron but by the weight of your own guilt and the humming, electric tension of the city below. You are the warden of your own soul, and the prison is the view, the skyline of Chicago stretching out into the mist, a jagged jaw of glass and...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 2 Views 0 önizleme