Long Black Train

Loved this. Evocative writing that deserves to be read.

HannahLearnsGrace

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Trains have been a bit of a theme in my life. When I was fifteen years old, it was the first time it really became my own personal thing to feel and think about. My Dad had transformed the attic, open wooden rafters with shingle dust pouring in. Cracks in the ceiling where water drops dropped. He took it from unfinished, to a teenage girls safe haven. That’s what I called it, my safe haven. Sea-foam green walls, tapestries painted with rainbow tie-dye and the moon and the sun and the stars hanging from the ceiling. Taking turns flickering on and off throughout my teenage years were several white halo ceiling lights that were probably incorrectly wired. Speaking to my Dad’s intention to do everything he could with the very little he had. Alone in my own world of longings and wonderment, I would open up the window at night…

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