If Wishes Were Horses
The train was late; it gave her more time to fight the tears.
Towns passed the window. People. Families. Homes. She’d left hers behind again.
Tomorrow, she would be a professional, forcing her smile to rise above her heavy heart.
She closed her eyes and wished it were the last time.
“This is why I came here,” says the man from Montreal. He points to a Facebook photo of a woman from Missouri. “We thought the border could be our place, but…
His eyes are red. He falls asleep as soon as the train starts to move. His fingers caress the keyboard.