I’m on a train. Hills are bursting behind her as light caresses her lips. I sense her breathing. The motion of her lips, her soft skin. She raises her hands toward me. Her hand blocks the sunlight, whose beams leak in between her fingers, them glowing in crimson. I touch her as if harping her fingers one by one. Time is meaningless. The whole and everything are her lips and fingers, bathed by gentle northern sunlight.
