The Distant Affair

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:26:01 -

I dreamt of the kiln. It breathed. Not with fire, but with a cold, wet exhalation that tasted of iron and old tea. I stood before it. My hands were not my own. They were thick, calloused, stained with a glaze that pulsed like a vein. I was making a cup. A simple cup. White. Perfect. I held it up. It was not a cup. It was my eye. I woke. The room was gray. The machine in the corner hummed. It...

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