Perfect

Seven: Answers

The sky is dark and there are a few, but not many stars. I lean on the green rail that runs along the bridge over the canal. The wind whispers past me. I stare into the water of the canal, the blackness that never seems to end.

If think about how cold that water would be. I shiver at the thought.

A tear snakes down my face, drying very quickly; I’m breathing quickly, trying to stop myself from bursting into tears.

How did my life become such a mess?

I’ve asked myself this question for years.

I still haven’t found the answer.