She

Like someone who would throw a love away because it was too perfect, her fear was a knife of purest ice. Invisible on edge, and burning in its touch.

I never knew her, not intimately, but word of her had spread far and wide. Detailed accounts of the cruelty of her fury, corroborated by dozens of unrelated sources, made dismissal by anecdote impossible. It didn’t matter. I wanted to believe.

It was high time for a reckoning, for retribution to rain down on a barren land that had never borne her any sweet fruit, only barbed weeds and dry heartache.

2014.09.02 – 2023.04.28

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