By Amy O'Neil
You always knew she’d go. Like a train that isn’t scheduled to stop at your station, she whooshed past making her own wind.
You remember tucking precious hairs behind her ear as she recounted dreams, before they were lost strand by strand with each morning coffee.
Everything ached. Words became tiresome. She grew light, wispy.
You miss her quiet apologies for disappearing.
When you catch the scent of her honey-bergamot shampoo, you whisper her name. Even though it’s impossible.
You leap out of the carriage and the train doors slide shut.
In her powder-soft shadow you are running, staggering, stumbling, falling.
Touching love story.
Simply superb.
You can feel that.
Beautiful.