The Wistful Dinner
The rain in Edinburgh did not fall so much as it insisted, a cold, grey curtain that dissolved the sharp edges of the city into a watercolor smear of slate and stone, and I walked through it with my hands deep in the pockets of my coat, the heavy wool of which felt less like protection and more like a shroud, a tangible weight that anchored me to the earth while my mind drifted toward the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews