One small step at a time. So small, I am barely picking up my feet. I resist the temptation to fall back into old patterns. The phone across from me reflects my desires. I see my image, distorted by the shape and the shine. I am going to clean myself up well this time, I say. Winter does not support these endeavors. It demands routine and comfort.
The late hours play tricks on the mind. An idealization begins. Robert becomes a knight, made into a king by altered memories alone.
I know that he was more evil than good, more dead than alive.
If a criminal always revisits the scene of the crime, then we will meet again. I wait like a beaten victim. Wait for him to see the mess he left behind.