The Pale Bonsai
The rain does not fall so much as it hangs, a grey curtain stitched to the earth by the weight of your own exhaustion, and you walk the length of the Appalachian ridge with a wooden box strapped to your back that contains the only thing in this world that has ever truly understood the silence of your bones. You are the investigator, though you have never worn a badge or carried a warrant; your...
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