Epigraph
Epigraph
Atop the ledge, the darkness peered back at me.
Far below, somewhere through the fog, the river gushed against rock, sweeping away despair and misery. It would soon sweep me away with it.
Then a gentle breeze wisped forward, sifting through my hair and the drawstring of my hoodie, soft against my cheek. My eyes fell shut as I leaned into its touch—and for a moment, it was seductive, as if whispering a secret into the night's chill; of a hint of gentleness the world could offer, a peace that could exist.
Hope.
I stepped back.
here is my hand, he said.
here is my hand that will not harm you.
