sky mirror

[And this is from the other day.]

The cloud sky is frozen over, like ice on a puddle or frost on the windshield.

I remember writing a note to my fourth-grade teacher as I sat outside the classroom: “Do I cry too much?” I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that I cried on my ninth birthday. Over what exactly, I don’t remember - it was trivial, I’m sure – but I can re-feel the building up of hurts and disappointments until I couldn’t hold it inside anymore.