SABRINA SEELIG

She woke me up on the train. I was sitting on the top. We shared grape juice.
The wind was blowing strong. I was reminded of Woody Guthrie, playing guitar in the rain. Ducking underneath tunnels, our hair blew around our ears, knotting each strand. The western sky was filled with clouds that should have been our pillows. I told her it was too late to be doing this. We could not be here. It’s impossible! She said to me, it’s not in the head, it’s in the heart.