It was apparently okay to cry, all over the spilled milk of soiled dreams. Maybe it would have helped, reaching into the depths of a fractured soul and pulling one last teary eyed performance from her. It would have been so healing, cataclysmically selfish, but a collective collapse that she had earned. Holding on was…

The first winds of winter were waiting, giggling in the sky with grey clouds as the sun sobbed at the way she had been betrayed. There was no promise of a happy ending, just the inevitable upheaval of the season, and the sun had no choice but to see it through. This was her penance.

It rained all day, but my skin was soothed by the soft kiss of the skies. I ran to the roses, holding them close to my chest as the wind rushed round our embrace. It was fruitless, but I was thankful, all the same.

I sold all my tools, tired of fixing, and aching from the obligations of every stray and sullen problem that became mine for no reason. Selfish was a state of mind, but one I strived for, after years as a handy woman, therapist, heroine, comfort blanket. Ghosts and ghouls crowded my door, and I watched,…