.
.
i.
What can be said about the nature of grief? The shape of his emptiness, the knife in his heart?
The river is unforgiving, and so is he.
.
ii.
"I do not love you," Yaeko says, and Adam grabs her by the arms, thrusts his face into hers.
"You speak as if you have a choice."
.
iii.
There is a rope, which cuts across the skin of her hands. There is the girl, whose eyes flash at him with hate.
He had kissed those eyes the night before.
.
iv.
The morning comes, and with it comes fog: gray frayed clouds and the threat of rain.
"He will come for me," Yaeko says.
His fingertips fall as he touches her cheek.
"Yes," he says. "I know."