Hit her
Like a train on a track)
The countryside still lay covered in snow, silent, white, resting blankets of snow across the industrial behemoths of ages past as the train raced to an end. You step out of the security line at the last second, you have no bags to check, no golden ticket to let you move forward once the snaking shuffle of people closes in around itself. Step quickly onto the escalator and don't look back. You have too many goodbyes in your back pocket, they no longer chafe at your raw skin, no longer leave an imprint of a face on the inside of your eyelid and once those train doors close behind you again, everything is seemingly back to normal.
The Manhattan skyline approaches like a hazy promise on the horizon. Whispers comfort in your tired ears. Welcomes you home.
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