I am the warmth of the sun and the cold of the darkness. How empty the space I once held will become. How my absence will haunt you like a ghost that keeps whispering all the ways you crossed me.
“They have no idea who they’re dealing with,” the one who fashioned me would say. It seems they never did. They mistook kindness for weakness, they took for granted, they used and abused. They loved so much they hated, and how intolerable such a twisted love becomes.
Push it away, and it will go, and how you will wish it had stayed. I never forget, and I never regret rendering what is due. When my tolerance is at its end, the winds shall increase and it shall be unleashed—that is the day they rue.
From my book: Hushing the Voices
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