A short story, a message to myself, found again by accident. Written a year ago. It is a message of hope, written in an uncertain time.
The second weekend of February. Clothed in red and white, it is a pretender. It claims to be the herald of romance, but it is not. It is, instead, the harbinger of emotional torture.
Shut down [Le Sueur]
Sheltering at home from the storm, I think back to the night before.
Status stream [Le Sueur]
Facing down the bad weather. Doable, but tough. Glad I'm back at the hab. But that's about all I can think.