Her Train Travels

On the way to the airport, we see a train. Was he waving hello or good-bye? Both, she says. Every ending is a new beginning.

Months ago, I knew. The texts, the calls, the non-looks. Time whittled away leaving us hollow together.

Before it had been different. Contented and settled. The wanderlust left her, she said. She’d put her lists in the desk drawer and shut it with a click.

We met in Paris in the spring at a sidewalk cafe. A travel brochure reflected off her sunglasses. It was kismet that I noticed, stopped, and we began to talk.


 

Photo linked via The Write Prompts

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