Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold. There was nothing green yet anywhere I looked, and the air stayed cold until well past mid day. Sometimes the sun would break through the grey mist with a half-hearted attempt at cheering up the sad and dismal countryside , but all that brown was discouraging, and day after day it seemed to simply give up without a fight.
No, come back! I wanted to shout at it. Try harder. Winter is an asshole, you can make it go away. But the sun doesn’t listen to anyone.
Those last few bleak days I spent hesitantly preparing to leave, because I was reluctant too. Remiss to walk away from a life that had become impossible, but which remained, in spite of everything, still strangely comforting in its familiarity. Afraid, wary, hanging back, I kept searching for one good reason not to go. There were reasons, but in the end, none of them were good enough.
A shrill whistle sounded in the distance and the tracks grumbled and shook as a numbing north wind whipped stray locks of hair across my face and into my eyes, some of the long strands sticking to the tears that kept stubbornly falling no matter how many times I brushed them away. My ticket to freedom was crushed and broken in one clenched fist. The other one dragged my heavy bag across the platform. And then I boarded the southbound train. With all my might and resolve I resisted the backward pull and in my head I wiped the slate clean.
I felt as stubborn as the sun. Strong and steady and enduring. Soon I’d be ready to shine again.
The Speakeasy at Yeah Write # 157 – include the following sentence as the FIRST line in your submission: “Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold.”
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