When the fence burns

I could’t say it was too late or too early, but what I was sure about is that I could’t have gone to sleep even if I could. It was the season of the night, of the gleaming snow and the hard ice. The shadow of the straight branches drawn creepy images on the white powder while the sky was being stricken with the orange beams of a new day.

I should have been frozen, but my blood was burning. I was next to her and I knew she was lying to me. She had spent the whole night, the whole week and probably the whole month lying to me. I knew it, and I probably knew the answer, but I didn’t want to. I wanted a different explanation.

It was just the two of us in that little and privet circle of snow, surrounded by frozen branches and the fence of nature that held her secrets away from me.

I was tired of that, tired of walking around that little garden asking questions while she just looked down and cried, like a little girl. I guess I seemed like a little girl too, because I cried too. But my tears made little paths on the snow like drops of boiling water, while hers built iced arrowheads to protect her full garden of secrets.

I decided to leave. I wasn’t sure if I was waiting for the sun to appear for I was afraid of the lonely darkness, but I left. I crossed the gate of the tree fence and before I could arrive to the main path, she asked me to stop. I did it, but I didn’t turn back. She went close, hugged me from the back like a traitor and whispered the truth in my ear.

I left the garden forever, and I decided that if I had to go back, I would burn it.

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