The Safekeep

by Yael van der Wouden

I think that big love is like that but no one’s dead or dying. And then I think: it’s much better to just like a person a lot. Who makes good decisions when they’re in love? I know no one.

Autumn had barely entered, barely taken off its coat, but the air smelled like winter already.

JANUARY LOWERED ITSELF OVER AMSTERDAM and would not rise again. The clouds stayed close to building tops and yesterday’s snow would not be willed away, it turned to sludge and turned to ice in the drains.

Found that love was a sickly thing that punished you for each step you took in its direction.