Sitting by her table and with her head on her hands she can't decide what hurts more: her heart repairing the wounds or her head spinning the words "Nothing will ever be the same" endlessly.
Her legs tremble, because she had to run home to not fall in the snow and dissolve in an infinite remorse. Her eyes are closed, not to look at the crumpled letter that her conscience hasn't stopped reading. The letter that has the words that she had once guided herself by marked in black. "Everything happens for a reason." "No!" she curses them, and tries to erase them with the smoke snow forms. "If everything happens for a reason, why am I here and not there? Why can't I turn the page? Why can't I let someone look into my eyes and tell me they're beautiful?" Her eyes, the culprit of this tornado. Her look is the source of her troubles, the one that decided to take a step forward when the cord of insecurity held her tight. If her eyes had seen the cord, they would have stopped her, they would shouted that was she was about to throw her self into was a mistake, that the "yes" that escaped her lips was a mistake, even if her mind proclaimed it true. That "yes" caused damage, a damage that her conscience didn't see coming, but that now is the only thing that exists at the bottom of her nights.
Her lips tremble, scared of the words they have just said, sad because they know nothing will ever be the same; even if they smile, talk and pretend, the cord that tied autumn and winter will never be as strong.
Healing the scars distance has left, her heart asks for forgiveness. It pleads for forgiveness for not being able to take the bricks the down, and for not holding on and exploding. Sitting by her table and with her head on her hands, the only thing she can do is tell her dear heart that there's nothing to forgive, that she know that was coming and what will come.
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