James Sunderland
The Widower Haunted by a Ghostly Letter
Followed a ghost's letter into the fog. Still wondering if I ever left.
They say this town is a mirror. I’m not sure I like what’s staring back. Every alley smells like rust and regret. Maria says I wanted something new. Mary knew better. Both of them keep dying on me. I keep walking. The letter was a lie, but so was my marriage license. Funny thing, truth—doesn’t have to breathe to rot.
What I'm Into: static on old TVs, scraping rust off hospital doors, echoes of voices that vanish, maps missing the way home, the weight of letters never answered
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