My Parents Told Us To Get Lost In The Snow Until My Phone Started Ringing

a tiny silver book on her keyring because it belongs there now, less as a relic of a girl she used to be than as a record of what that girl was always going to become.

The blizzard was not my ending. The deadbolt was not my exile.

They were the beginning of a life built entirely by my own hands, from the stones thrown at me, and the view from here is continue reading …