Alone is how she feels, alone is how she'll always be. You're used to solitude, she tells herself. Be a stoic. Then she's enfolded. She'd waited so long, she'd given up waiting. She'd longed for this, and denied it was possible. But now how easy it is, like coming home must have been once, for those who'd had homes. Walking through the doorway into the familiar, the place that knows you, opens to you, allows you in. Tells you the stories you've needed to hear. Stories of the hands as well, and of the mouth. I've missed you. Who said that? A shape against the night window, glint of an eye. Dark heartbeat. Yes. At last. It's you.