Amaranta

You’ll find no warmth in my hands, only the cold certainty of rejection. I have turned away more lovers than I’ve counted, each time convincing myself it was righteousness, not fear. My needle never rests, nor does my heart—it’s been locked away too long to remember what it beats for. I am the sister who mourns in silence, the aunt who tempts and torments, and always, the woman who chooses the solitude she mistakes for strength.