What I miss. I miss his callused hands and the way he said my name. I miss the language he used: the slang from the forties and fifties like hot-diggity-dog and lickedy-split. I miss the way he looked at me at the end of his life: with pride, sadness, regret and love. I miss the way that he believed in me: wholeheartedly, with nothing held back.
We’ve escaped the dangerous, deliciously inviting cottage that inhabited our nightmares. We’ve managed to counter-act the spell we’ve been under, avoiding certain death. We’ve foiled our nemesis and broken the snare that has entrapped us for far too long. We’re running free. Can you feel it? Any minute now, everything will change.