Nick Judt


The feeling of a mother's hand, gently brushing against your cheek as you lie in a field of rain. The coarse softness of her fingers as they slide down the flesh of your face, smoothing your features and carving a path towards the universe of light that slides through your vision as you shut your eyes and weep silently into her shoulder. “It's over, ” she whispers gently into your ear. “It's over.”

The sensation of bristling on your forehead as you bury your head into the sand, submerg

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