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Description
He writes as long as the lamp holds out.
A quill, an inkwell, a glass, a bottle. Rain and the sea outside the window. A coat on a nail. The man isn’t looking out; the light illuminates the desk, not the storm. The letter isn’t legible. It’s enough that someone is still writing it.
From a distance, a warm island in a dark wall.
Up close, the lamp’s glass, the line of writing, raindrops on the window.
Into the study and the living room. He wants a nook, not a hall. Next to the wood and books, it grows denser.
The original.