Coming

This is the first time she has made this journey in four years. It's like a daydream. When she presses her temple against the thick window glass, her head jiggles and she can feel the fierce heat of the sun. When she resumes her normal posture, she is perfectly comfortable - the train is practically breezy because of the air conditioning, and so the temperature is just right.

She eats a small bag of Iced Gems, a coveted childhood favourite, slowly, making them last. Each time, she snaps the fondant gem off and rests it on her knee while she eats the bland biscuit part. She has always pretended it is the body of Christ. And pink gems have the most flavour.

She smiles at everyone who walks past her down the aisle, full, deep smiles that make strangers feel embarrassedly grateful. An old lady with a tiny dog in her arms and fingers full of rings sits down opposite her between Tonbridge and Sevenoaks and strikes up a conversation, moved to, by her truthful smile.

They connect instantly, talk without pauses, keen to discover each other. They talk about love, and the old lady tells her it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. She gives sincere thanks for this advice, and feels somehow more secure in her knowledge of the world when the woman and her dog leave the train.

She leaves invisible messages on the window, since there is no condensation on beautiful days. Words meant directly for herself, in the past and the future. She cannot bear the thought that she might forget who she is again. Because, now she knows who she's supposed to be.

And when she sees the cliffs, the sea, the things with edges and the things that don't end, she is on her feet before she even realises, pulsing at the window, addicted to the smell and the blue.