SPICER GRAY
It has been five months since Mirabel left. And I am still here, waiting hopelessly for her return. I haven’t transformed either. I can’t give anyone or anything the power over me. I even sleep with my eyes half closed.
I still feel her, or so I tell myself.
She didn’t reject me which is good.
I have been depressed, and I am thankful I am not suicidal. The thought of dying and then she returns and finds don’t sit well with me.
Everything is nothing. And nothing is everything.
The seasons change. The pack celebrates. The pack is attacked. The pack wins. The pack moves on. Still, I am waiting for my dear Mirabel.
It has turned into an obsession now. Forget about how I relentlessly begged her to forgive me; the wait and the questions are on the other level.
I don’t leave
