He was meant to be there as the match-maker, the Weaver, not the Matched. I watched it all, unable to stop it, but also not wanting to.
Who wants to stand in the way of love?
I was there the day he brought two Matched together. Part of the camera crew to document the further success of the Weavers. Never before had I struggled with a Matching. The Weaver’s choices always made sense. They always followed a pattern. But when this Weaver showed up with his boy-man. I wasn’t the only one to scoff at the match.
I never thought I’d see the world this way. A perfect resemblance of a YA dystopian novel. If I’d known how hard this life was, I’d never have entertained myself with hours of devouring those novels.
We’ve been traveling for days.
Bone weary and chilled through threadbare coats. There’s been nothing but grey stormy skies and frostbitten wind pushing at our tattered clothes. I can’t remember the last time I felt clean. Most of the streams we pass are frozen over and the places the water does still flow are green with toxins. Continue reading
It only comes back to me in fragments. But the feel of it remains with me long after.
I’m shopping. Laughing, having fun.
Only the store I’m browsing is filled with urns and coffins. Continue reading