She steps out into the wide, weary morning, the streets of the town are dripping with warmth, with their lazy shopfronts and their half-open doors.
Every step a little closer to where she wants to be.
The sun brushing against her skin, like an old, familiar friend.
But not the friend she’s been hoping for.
Not the one she’s got in her head.
It’s that pastel blue shop tucked between the working greengrocer’s and the depressed chemist, with its windows full of dusty trinkets and old magazines.
She’s stood outside it so many times, looking in.
Caught between wanting and waiting.
Hoping for a moment, a glance, a sign, something that tells her they know she’s there.
That they see her in the same way she sees them.
She walks past the café, its iron chairs scattered on the pavement, scared young couples resting their hands on their jeans, pockets filed with awkwardness.
She thinks of them, so easy in the world, and wonders if she’ll ever feel like that.
Free, open, like she could say what she feels.
But for now, she just keeps her head down, following the road to that one place she knows too well.
But as she reaches the shop, heart pounding, the door opens, and there they are.
Their smile warm and easy, like they’ve been waiting all along.
For a moment, her worries vanish in the sunlight.
And she smiles back, hoping, just for today, that she can let herself believe it\'s real.