Hattie Morrison writes about:                                  

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I followed you back to the train in the rain. My hair was wet and the drains were filling. I was running at points, the pain creeping in.

I saw you turn around, to check for me pacing, but by that point I was already disappearing.

When you turned to check for traffic, left and right, I hid my face. The lights saw me, fading for the night, and looking on I saw a road stretch out

slowly, Slowly.

It will be morning soon, and then again and again.