It is not that I don't want to live. It is that I don't want to live like this ...
I stare at the ellipsis at the end of her crumpled note. It speaks to me of something unfinished, an unknown void that beckons. I really believed there would have been a love letter to me inside her, but her shame-stricken family had cremated the body.
by the bridge guardrail
hush of snowfall
Drifting Sands, 13, January 2022