Travel weary I rest for a while. My blood runs cold, like too thick a milkshake being sucked through a straw. I can barely discern a half-hearted beating in my chest. There is a mere flicker of warmth, like a candle in the breeze, barely able to stay alight. I reach into my coat, to the inside pocket. Numb fingers fondle around until they find their prize. In the palm of my hand is a weather beaten photo. Faded as it is I can still make out her face. When I look upon it it re-ignites the flame in my heart, and a surge of warmth rushes through my veins. My cracked lips turn up in a smile, and my resolve grows strong again. With a twinkle in my eye I gaze at the picture for some time. I have long memorized every feature, when I close my eyes it is there, but each time I look upon it I am stunned anew by its perfect symmetry. I am emboldened. I cry out, “You will not take me, cursed chasm! I will not succumb!” One last look, then I carefully put the picture away. I am ready to continue my crossing. I will make the other side.
I plod on.
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