The hour with he had passed in a moment.
The hour with he and I and me.
The hour which had tick, tick, ticked down to the end of the journey on the wrong path, and had seen me take the first step onto the right.
One more step.
One more step.
I found myself back where I'd begun, in the train station with all my same problems and confusions, with all my nonsense and ridiculousness.
I found myself.
I found me.
'Hello,' I said aloud, the first word that I would say to myself before I faced what awaited this new, this old, this just and only me.
Hello.
YOU ARE READING
The Hour With You
Short StoryI stepped from the train with no journey in mind, only a desire to be far from what was behind me. There on that night he said to me a word with such promise, such hope, and such kindness that no two syllables ought to be able to contain it. 'Hello...
