The Distant Metropolis
The coat is not merely a garment; it is the architecture of your silence, a heavy, woolen fortress woven from the threads of a decade’s unspoken grief, and as you stand at the precipice of the jagged cliff where the wind strips the skin from the heather, you realize that the fabric is beginning to unravel, not with the sudden violence of a tear, but with the slow, inevitable fatigue of a thing...
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