Love Story.

It’s cold.

I wake up. The train is whooshing through.

A River?

No.

These are fields flooded by rain.

The icy wind beats on my face. They pinch. They remind me of you.

What a devastation. All these plentiful fields, Drowned. No fault of their own.

I should shut the windows. This wind might make me sick.

I rub off the sleep from my eyes. I sit up. I stare out the window.

It’s 4.27 am. Everybody is sleeping, shrouded in their blankets. It’s dark inside. Gloomy outside. Ominous.

I really should shut the windows.

I stand up and walk instead. To the yawning doors of the coach. The cold wind is gushing inside. It stabs my entire body.

This wind will definitely make me sick.

I think of us.

It’s gloomy. It’s flooded. And it’s cold.

I stand there. Against the wind.

I am sick.

And I am waiting, For warmth.

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