The Distant Summer

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 21:51:12 -

The ink in the pen was running low, a thin, brown trickle that smeared across the page as I pressed too hard, and I watched the blot spread like a bruise on the white paper, thinking of how my father had always said that paper was just pressed wood, and wood was just a tree that had given up on the sun. It was the fourteenth of November, 1912, and the office at the Ministry of Railways was...

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