The localswon’t walk this roadafter sunset. They whisperabout a womanwho never left. Some say she wandersthe upstairs halls. Others sayshe became the ivy,wrapping herselfaround every brickuntil the housecould never lose her again. I brought her a candle. A packed bowl. And enough silenceto hear the forest listening. Halfway through my smoke,I felt another exhalebeside me.…

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