Elara S. Novikova
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Marginalia VIII: One Button

A white shirt slid off one shoulder, my own hand holding it closed, the samovar glowing behind me.

White instead of black for once. A single open button holds more shadow than a whole closed wardrobe ever could. Mole and freckles stay sharp while the samovar glows soft brass behind them. Sometimes the smallest gap is the entire sentence.

marginaliapersonal
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