By Cath Bore
The train, sixteen coaches long, rattles out our love story. The wheels turn in a percussive shuffle, gently enough, but I tell them, hurry up and take me to him.
You’re there and waiting. White knuckles clutch flowers to your chest, but not too many. You know me so well!
The wheels shriek hard steel. Your cool dry lips miss my mouth somehow, pressing my hot cheek, and form unwelcome words. The very things you couldn’t put in your letter.
The train put it so much better. It pulls out of the station, and carries a part of me with it.
Oh, those bittersweet stories. They get me every time. Great imagery, and inevitable sadness to top it all off. Wonderful job, Cath.
Thank you, Bobby.
A beautiful heart-wrenching story. The train as love metonymy is excellent.
Thanks, Smila!
I agree with both the above. Amazing.
Thank you, Lynn!
Ouch, I felt that – great piece, loved it!
Thanks, Caroline. If it’s not hurting, it’s not working 😉