The Distant Journey
The frost bites the windowpane. It weeps thin, white tears that freeze before they reach the sill. You watch them. You have watched them for three days. The glass is cracked. A web of fractures radiates from the center, a spider’s web of ice. It was beautiful once. Now it is broken. You sit in the high chair by the hearth. The fire is low. It ticks and pops. You are old. Your hands are dry...
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