I am damaged. I’ve smashed my finger by catching it in a ladder as I was folding it, and even after a day it aches all down my hand into my arm. Who would have thought that such a small thing could hurt so much and spread so far? It makes it painful to type, to work, to do much of anything.
And so I sit, listening to my wind chimes play their mad tune while they dance in the breeze. The snow is melting and receding rapidly as the temperature rises.
And yet, I am still cold inside. This ache, this hurt colours everything with sharp edges of red and black.