No matter what I could’ve done that might’ve convinced me otherwise; it was far too late to try. Beyond me the cold Manhattan morning doesn’t want the sun to break through the clouds. The wind laughed its way between the tall buildings, smacking the poor excuses for trees as it whisked by. My nose was cold, but my hands can’t move to warm it as they fight to keep freezing. Only my ears burn. It was far too late. It had been done. What use did it make to repeat the words in my head over and over again? Maybe in hopes to numb my mind to the cold pulling its way through my nostrils with every breath? I still felt the shame though. At least that kept my veins from icing over, reminding me I was still alive. I shouldn’t be shameful for I have saved myself from damnation. I was right. They were wrong. All of them. Every last one of them. Maybe the shame dwelled upon me because my choice was just because I feared what could be as opposed to believing what I was doing was actually the right thing?
