The Faded Attic
The rain did not fall so much as it was poured, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the landscape into a watercolor painting left out in the storm. I stood in the doorway of the house I had not entered in forty years, my keys rattling in a pocket that felt too large for my hand, a hollow space where the weight of my youth used to be. The house was not the...
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