The dead winter trees outside the window reach up toward heaven in thin black lightning silhouettes. Barren limbs branching out in endless fractal patterns of interlaced Y's. An allegory of the perpetual season across my soul's landscape.

Her head is resting on my chest now. Rising and falling with every exhausted breath. Night breeze teasing me with lavender from her hair. Somewhere within that carnal dance of whispered half-truths we found a shred of reconciliation. Even if it was merely a temporary anesthesia against the phantom pain of amputated trust.

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