The Wistful Dinner
You dream of the glass. It is a heavy, green pane. It sits in your hands. The edges are sharp. You hold it up to the moonlight. The light bends through the thickness. It is beautiful. It is fragile. You know this. You have known it since the beginning. The glass is your life. It is your duty. It is the thing that holds the cold out. You wake with the taste of iron in your mouth. The room is...
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