Jocelyn sat on the roof of her house, a bottle of red wine beside her, feeling even more caught between heaven and earth.
Would her lover stay? She’d begun to slip, the fear and paranoia returned, the shadows of a broken mind, a broken heart.
The warmth of her hand in theirs, the solace she felt in their embrace, the sacrament of their kisses, that light could no always extinguish shadows.
Would she become too much for them, too angry, too unsure, too suspicious? Would the deny her those sacraments of affection? Excommunicate her away?
She hugged her knees, let the wine grow warm and bitter. She wanted to be her best. She wanted them to stay.
Spring had brought bright mornings and honey suckle blooms, and she’d take them to that place from childhood, for all was beautiful there.