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The weather app claims light freezing rain like it's a pleasant quirk of benevolent gods. Outside the street is pitch black and slick with ice (because let's be honest, freezing rain is just ice that falls). I spend a day in the window: my feet burning when the radiator fires up, my fingers freezing when it rests. The typewriter shivers and shakes under my thumb, but I am not trying to take out my anger on it, I thought we were dancing. Consent is only tricky when you're trying to make excuses. Guilt is not softened by milk and honey after the blow. The forecast tomorrow calls for spring warmth and afternoon sunshine.

Fool me twice, shame on me.
But I'll still take the honey, if you're offering.