I thought I’d take the time to think it over, reflect upon what happened in the past, and maybe find something, some hope—
There’s nothing here; it’s just a scab. It’s fading now. Still, I think cold winter will remind me: in that dying season, a broken bone may yet remember what it was, and for a moment have a twinge of pain; in my winter, my brokenness will return to me. For now, it’s just a scab.
But a twinge I felt today. The corner of my eye deceived—it was not you. Was that fear? How silly to feel fear. Anger, yes, that was too. Less silly to be angry, perhaps. I can’t decide. Best to forget it while I can, before cold winter brings cold memories.
Tale Told 