Perhaps, I was hitchhiking along any stretch of this life, or was I on a train, sitting next to someone, who I didn’t know, but was intrigued, all the same?
She didn’t say anything. Nothing at all, but just sat there, jotting notes in a book, with the name, “Travels” on the cover. It was filled with markers of different colors, feathers which made up her peacock plume, brushing up against each other like two friends on a crowded bus.
My imagination could have taken me far, when I first laid eyes on her. We could have, or did I say, or why did her train travel in the opposite direction? Imaginations needed to be corralled, like wild horses, lest they smelled the true air of freedom once again, and bolted into the darkness.
I wanted so much. To know where she had been. Who had she known…
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