Credence

by Penelope Douglas

Everyone contemplates suicide at some point, even if it’s just for a minute. And one thing is usually the root cause. Loneliness.

Cowards always live to regret, because it’s only too late that they realize the journey is filled with people who are afraid. They didn’t have to walk alone.

Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud. Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep.

It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.

Credence. I’m close enough to read it now. It means “belief as to the truth of something.”