A Winter Tale

Everything I never told you lives inside me, frozen in their ripeness like winterberries. Each of them carries a story of things that were or words from imaginary adventures. Like a trickle, letters fall down from icicles of crystallised dreams, joining my imagination, pushing a boat along the river of memories. Taste the frozen skin of winterberry story, run it between your lips first, anticipating that intense burst of juices if you dare to bite into it and allow yourself to be poisoned. Time stands still between the first bite and the beginning of intoxication. You may be saved by a warm liquid of steeping winterberry bark, cathartic in its tonic abilities. The poison and the antidote are parts of the same story. Trust the storyteller to either save or kill you.

Never let a Scorpio to offer you a drink. Don’t trust them to feed you cake either. Rather ask for a bag of popcorn and listen to their stories they’re inclined to spin for you.