“There was not a soul on the street. The snow had covered everything, and the streetlights cast a yellow glow that made the white surface look like an old photograph. He walked slowly, feeling the cold pierce through his coat, but he didn’t care. It was the anniversary day and he had to reach his destination.
Each of his steps left a deep imprint, a temporary signature on the virgin snow that the wind would soon erase. He thought about how much this resembled his life: a series of traces struggling to remain visible before oblivion covered them. He stopped for a moment and looked back, but the darkness had already swallowed the path he had traveled.
There was no turning back, only moving forward. The house appeared in the distance, a black silhouette on the white hill, with only one light on at the ground floor. He knew they were waiting for him, or at least that’s what he wanted to believe in order to find the strength to take the last few steps.”
