It begins with a train. Crossing borders. Crossing the continent. The constant thrum of steel wheels against steel rails. The hypnotic rhythm a mixed blessing from mountains to coast.
A ferry follows. Crossing the Channel. The relentless slap and swish of salt water against the hull. Lulling. Never quite numbing.
Another train. Crossing from port to station.
A hansom cab crossing the city.
A door. A step across one threshold.
Seventeen stairs that have never looked longer, never felt steeper.
I cross the last threshold into an empty flat. I can no longer call it a home without my friend.