“Sewing patches into quilts of sugar won’t do much good when the storm comes,” I told him. “It’ll just soak right through.” How true. It’s funny that – how I could be so right.
Hope and hell.
Trust and slander.
Deliverance and spite.
I know those hazy summer evenings had to come to a close, I just didn’t mean for them to snap shut so fast – I’d hoped to let him hold on a little longer. Ha, he shouldn’t have been so wicked then.
Click. Thud. Peace.