On the heels of the bitter winter that came and settled itself,

burrowing deep into the surrounding forest,

came a certainty, 

like a creeping ice that slowly spread through his chest,

that held him in a tightening vice, 

and that he longed so badly to ignore.

She would not be coming home.

Some days, if she thought about his beloved face

 she almost could not remember

why she had even left,

and regret clutched at her heart

until she could no longer breathe.

That day that he had come home early,

Oh! He could not stand to think of it!

His eyes grew hot at the memory.

"Are you coming home?

You're not coming home, are you? 

I just need to know."

That day on the beach it seemed the sea knew her heart.
All day she walked, pacing in seething rage at her own weakness.

All of a sudden she had a longing to see him.

She knew then that she would go home in the end.

Sometimes she felt there was no going back.

This woman can read her like a book- how can she not know?

But for once she does not want to tell her. She wants to hold her secret close.