A story behind. A memoir. A thought in the past. A smile. A place. Freedom.
Day 85 of my 100 Days of Writing Challenge. Not really writing, just dreaming between headaches.
One evening I was looking through the windows at the empty street outside the house and I remembered first months in the city I moved in years ago.
I just missed a train home. My feet are killing me and they’re wet from stepping into a puddle few minutes ago. Running after the train in the middle of December warms you up a bit for, only to drop your comfort winter temperature below what you feel it’s bearable.