He returns to the log many times. It's an unhealthy habit, a vice, of which he has many. He can smell the mud, hear the shriek of the wind and the harsh heavy thud of hail on the ground, but picturing it is beyond him, so it remains a simple log, dry and weathered , where not even the scent of her remains.
"I take it back," he whispers. Your heart isn't made of ice, he'd said. You bleed. His sullen words from his impudent mouth, as he stood thrashing in his naivety, seething in his anger. "I love you." There was once a thrill to those taboo words, and they had tingled as they tripped off his tongue. The endearment is but a corpse, stagnant as it rises from his throat and fetid as it falls into the air.
He knows now, just how much it takes to make her bleed.
next TTATT chap is ongoing. it's not difficult to write but ugh i'm just out of mojo for the moment, so here's a fun drabble to tide you all over