Sometimes when I rise, trains clatter by, as dawn becomes less distant. I stare through misty windows, to the forest that lays at the foot of my garden, knowing there is silence, but still hearing the far away melody of your gentle breath, the trembling trains that creep past, trying desperately not to wake you.…

I think but don’t speak. I think “Don’t give up on us.” I think I’ll say it. I think I’ll be late. It’s a habit I’ve hated, especially now. Especially now, when I need to find my voice. It can’t be too late. I know some will say, the timing is wrong, bad luck. Just…