abigail waited.
bundled in layers and scarves,
catching strangers' eyes,
doing her best not to think.
eventually she would give in,
forging visions and
gallivanting around
her visionary mind.
in just a few hours she would be
jostling against fellow travelers,
kissing the rim of first class champagne,
licking her lips, and
making conversation with
noelle, the french beauty seated
on her left. but
presently she was
questioning her abruptness and
reasons for leaving. remembering those
salty tears that had run down,
taunting her cheeks as she
undressed the night before,
vowing to
wander this journey alone.
XII—midnight. time to drift
yieldingly into the unknown—
zero hour.
