The beginning of a short story I'm working on...

It was a dark time, and I don't know why I felt so alone but I did. It was like I was the only one left on the planet and everyone I loved had been savagely ripped from my hands, leaving me crying and begging for mercy, begging to die so I wouldn't have to live an eternity without them. I had nothing...my place was bare as the land around me, and almost as white too. It had been snowing, and I had no heat. If I died I would be ok with that at this point, I thought. I lived in a small cabin in the woods of northern Vermont, where I would walk the 2 miles down the slope to grab my mail even in the winter to feel like there was someone out there thinking of me. People would wave if they drove by. This is why I chose this place. It was so rural, so small, that everyone was friendly and waved to one another. It made me feel special even though I knew I wasn't. One day, when I was in one of my especially dark moods, I walked to the end of my road and sat in the snowbank, making excuses in my head for my miserable existence. Then, off in the far distance, I saw a truck I did not recognize. It looked newer, four wheel drive and probably ran on diesel...I wondered for a second if it was someone wanting to come ski on my side of the mountain. It was rare, but some of the lower locals did it. But as the truck approached further I could see this was no skiier. This was someone entirely different. Someone I knew from the past. She was a firecracker...five feet even with the longest natural black hair you'd ever see. Her eyes were a strange green that was hauntingly beautiful. She was slight in figure, and every step she took mattered. At least, she had the confidence to make you think so. She was intimidating to the max, say one word around her that you know she doesn't like and she will eat your heart for breakfast. And when she walked by, you could catch a hint of cinnamon and a lovely jasmine like flower. She was my first love...and my last. I could never imagine anyone living up to her, nor could I l e up to her standards. She was all I ever wanted, but I was nothing to her. I was a bug on her windshield, a piece of trash she would so willingly throw away. The only reason I had ever left her was because living up to her expectations was harder than moving mountains. To be continued at a later time.