I lean, shaking, against arrivals and departures. A study in black. Painted lips and eyes. Terror and hope battle. Am I too changed? Are you? Can we? Will we?
Station noises fade.
I see you first. You see me.
Memories return.
I sip Southern Comfort. The room is booked. We walk Yorks’ streets. In a new venue, you stroke beneath my top and kiss me. I lean, shaking.
