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 f**k’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 directly behind me, casting rays of dusty sunbeams skittering across the freshly swept floor. Beyond the rusting metal window frame, a patch of sparse trees bow
