This still hurts. A freaking ice body is shards floats in place bound by memories that seem to be imprinted in the cells of the once unified whole.
Sneaks in past the indifference.
Hope almost agitates the damaged nerve cells, if that is what they are. Where does memory reside. What is need? Emotional needs are the most sinister. There is no grocery store. No frozen waste to cross will supply that dwindling whiskey supply.
Time? Is there some resolve slowly working its way back to me?
Infinite Resignation.
Tawdry.
Nasty Business...this...
Werther wonders. Death did not sate the pain...and the endless parade of painful images since have only confused him more.