The Faded Paradox
You stand at the edge of the cobblestones, the morning fog rolling off the river like a slow, gray exhalation, and you tell yourself that you are leaving because the silence has become too heavy to breathe. The city, that ancient and breathing beast, does not care for your departure. It swallows the sound of your footsteps into the wet stone, indifferent to the fact that you are the Senior...
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