She is alone. This has been her fear all along. It is dusk on an open road and mountains and unmoving turbines and the moon.
There are more miles between here and there than she cares to admit. She won’t admit anything. The abandonment. The inadequacy. The wedding that shouldn’t have been. The affair. The family. The abuse. The divorce. The abandonment. The abandonment. The child in her arms that isn’t hers.
There are many beasts that walk these streets – bigger and burning hotter than the stars. The scars on her hands show how busy broken messy busy broken she has kept herself. She has kept herself. To herself. Toward herself. Away from herself. Abandonment. Tired. So tired.
She is alone. Alive but alone and what is living when you can’t hear another heart beating?