So far away

I will be looking out of the window as the train pulls away into gushing oceans of green grass, dead trees snagging the overcast sky and plunging into icy Wiltshire. Everything will fog over and start wobbling as the rain begins to fall. All I will be thinking about is you. As the smooth frost night blankets everything, lying in a foreign country in a bed that isn't mine, isn't with you, the rain will fall harder.

Come to me in my dreams with velvet touch and cottony whispers that I might be with you as I sleep.

Stay. I cannot do this alone.

But I've learned to cry very quietly.