The Golden Myth
The gold dust settled on the lapel of my father’s coat, turning the grey wool into a shimmering, impossible light. I woke with my hand pressed against the fabric, feeling the rough weave, the thinning threads at the elbow where I had stretched them thirty years ago. The dream was gone, but the weight of the coat remained on my shoulders, heavy with a memory of wealth that had never truly...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews