The train lurches at an unvarying pace. The same countryside trundles past the window, same fields, rivers, woods. Identical lines of trees border roads she’s sure run faster than this train. In her head she gallops, fast as a mythological horse, flying winged galloper, eating up the cloud miles that separate the two halves of her heart. In her head she howls with excitement and apprehension.
City approaches. Her hooves slow. What if he isn’t there? When the winged train flies into the station, she clings to the last ticking shreds of incertitude, reluctant to risk hope for death.