The Woman Running

The sun sets over the train station and blinds me with light, amber and gold. I see the fence of the bridge, the landing of the stairs.

I see the woman running.

The most amazing woman in the world. She breathes, and I am breathless; she effortlessly changes my life. Just now she runs to catch her train. She makes all struggles appear surmountable.

The train is ready to depart. I am running too, but she is fast. She must be, to seize her opportunity; so much faster than me.

The most amazing woman in the world, with whom I have fallen madly in love, she disappears to somewhere I cannot follow, and I am too late, or too slow, or too weighed down to be any rightful sort of accompaniment to her.

In a flash, the sunset dims, and she is gone, and all my memories of her are as vivid, and brief, and as fading as a photograph.

That freedom for which I love her is the very thing by which she breaks my heart.