The Faded Photograph
It is a peculiar sort of silence that settles into a house after the last guest has departed, a silence that feels less like an absence of sound and more like the presence of a held breath. I stood in the center of the drawing room, my hands resting on the cool, polished mahogany of the table where we had shared our final dinner, and I tried to reconcile the weight of the air with the lightness...
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