I’m not going to tell myself I don’t care again. I’m not going to bottled up everything and go back to being a wall, like last time. I’m not going back to “Only the Warmth of Solitude.”
All this time, from First Summer six years ago to now, I wondered about the shade of her hair and eyes. Turns out, now, on waking up from a strange and nostalgic nap, it was ash-grey all along.