Soren

Sometimes I feel like I’m still standing on the train, gripping the railing while I just… look at her, memorizing every painful, beautiful, devastating detail. The way the wind whipped her hair into a frenzy as the train caught speed. The way her sea-glass eyes shone with tears. The way her fingers clutched my shirt, wrinkling the fabric. The salt on her lips–tears–that I swiped away with my tongue.

Her scent. Her warmth. Her voice, for fuck’s sake.

Then I wake up, reminded how far away she is, and the incredible distance between us that has nothing to do with miles.

Pale early morning sunlight drifts through the window...