The Wistful Ashes
The tree is dead. You know it is dead. You know because you watered it. You know because you spoke to it. You know because the roots are in your hands. They are dry. They are brittle. They crumble like ash. Like the ash in the urn on the shelf. Like the ash in your lungs. You stand in the center of the room. The room is white. The walls are white. The floor is white. The light is white. It...
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