Emily McIllwain

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I felt a sense of wonder, a deep, warm happiness that came from somewhere far away. The ceremony transported me back in time. I could feel hands sliding into my own, inhabiting them. Nachman’s fingers, gnarled as the roots of an ancient oak tree. His face leaning toward me, over the candles, whispering, “We are all pearls in the same necklace.”
The Postcard
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