He read the poems with deep sighs as if each word climbed into his heart and burdened it. He had written them for another him, as he was to figure out after reading the first page. He drank the Calvados and fell to his knees on the sole-scuffed floor. He had become a golden shadow, doomed to live in stillness, in this enclave of old people that smelled like certain death. His beautiful Caro ran …
Stiripesurse.ro
