The world is coated in ice – to match my frozen heart. Frost roses with icy thorns grows inside my garden walls. Beautiful but barren.
You can only predict things after they’ve happened
Time does more than erode a riverbank and wear montains down into tired hills. It takes the edge from our memories as well, overlaying everything with a soft focus so that it all blurs together. What really happened gets all jumbled up with the hopes and dreams we once had and what we wish had really happened.
From Dreams Underfoot by Charles de Lint
I miss holding your hand when I walk down the street. It was such a good fit – my hand in yours.
You`ve made up your own truth. You`ve painted the past in black-and-white, and you drew me in black. I do not know how I ended up that way. You never told me what I did wrong