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"By winter, or I will find you in the next world, Wayfarer"



I was happy never expecting or making promises.

This one dragged from me, felt important. Yet I do not care what becomes of me now. The stream was my fate; and now my currents carry something to spectacular, ferocious failure... Or success that will heal so much wrong, -- and also break me.  

 

Or... maybe it won't break me, and that would be even worse.

What would it make me? I am already unforgivable. I am already gone like a season of nothing; waters dark and currents driven with poison, grey and black.

So much suffering.

 

Still, did I promise to return in winter?

 

Not long ago I hoped for winter to come swiftly; that I might race it. It is hard to remember how sure I forced myself to be. To think the repercussions were like a dance. To think I could always move, and go wherever I wanted. To return here. To follow my heart. To savor freedom.

There is no going back. 

 

Now, I hope time slows. I wish for the first time I could have more. I hope winter does not arrive too soon, bringing waiting faces and empty air when I can't come back.

 

Even if I could, how can I look at their eyes?

 

Wait for me, winter. Somehow, I will be ready.
 

Somehow, I will keep that stupid promise. 

 

Whatever the cost.