The Golden Ritual
March 14th The brass handle of the filing cabinet is cold, a dead weight against my palm, and I find myself pressing my thumb into the metal until the skin whitens, a small, private ritual that tells me I am still here, still solid, still capable of holding things in place. Julian’s name is the only anchor I have left in this vast, humming silence; I repeat it like a prayer, Julian, Julian, as...
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