She waited on the platform watching the trains come in, disgorge their passengers and move on.

She kept hoping she’d catch a glimpse of him; that he’d see her and smile.

That what stood between them – the gulf of their lifestyles – would shrink in that second.

He would see she could stand still; could breathe within the walls of his love.

He was rooted, deep into the ground. Solid, unmoving.

She was the parachute of dandelion fluff floating on zephyrs of perpetual motion.

She tried to wrap herself around his tree trunk like a winding vine. He tried lifting her up into his branches.

But she always slipped; skidded, scudded to the ground. He could not hold her close enough; long enough.

His words still echoed: “Home is where you’re not.”

She waited until the darkness blurred the faces; she turned, knapsack on her back. The wind was calling. He was not her home.

image: © Lorraine

for mlmm tale weaver #160: homelessness