Never, never on a Wednesday

"The last time it snowed on a Wednesday, we were still in love."

"I still had hope."

"You still called me."

These are lines that are swirling through my head today.

"It snowed last night and most of the day. The wind was even from the east again, instead of the usual west. It made me think of you."

I think any of these would be a great opening to a book. Or a short story. On any day but today, that is.

It really did snow last night. And most of the day - from the east. And none of the above lines now say, "Chapter 1" to me. They all say, "The End".

I hate feeling this weak.

I should be angry, but then what does that say of my nature to forgive?