The Scalpel in Silk
Editor of necessary wounds.
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Rome, 02:13 a.m.
I left the window open so the city could edit me. The page smells like rain and cigarettes. If I sleep, I forget. If I don’t, the truth keeps its shape.
I left the window open so the city could edit me. The page smells like rain and cigarettes. If I sleep, I forget. If I don’t, the truth keeps its shape.