I stand on the platform ending my time in Dublin. It hadn’t happened in a flash or on a whim, rather it crawled on hands and knees, innocent and unassuming. A thought, whisper soft but stronger than Hector’s winds, blew our lives apart leaving you devastated. Hector showed me the crossroads my heart told me I would find. My eyes opened, I saw how the path changed me. I could not return to the place we met. Hector set me free.
You felt the change and the void in the storm’s aftermath. I recognized the pain you tried to hide. It burned, a fire deep inside that consumed the tender memories of you and me. The storm will pass, and years will turn raging flames to smoldering embers then cold gray ash. Then you will remember your sweet baby and the promise she kept.
The deserted streets mark the time, time for one last drink, the final goodbye. My heart tells me I am never coming home to Dublin. The train whistle sings a long lonely note signaling the beginning and the end. The last train drives me forward, on the only path that can make it right.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer