THE LAST STOP.
In her dreams she wandered. Wandered out in the fields, her white dress flowing in the wind. Wandered out in the woods, between trees and deer. Wandered where her feet would take her, only stopping for a second to enjoy a sunrise, a sunset, anything that caught her eye. Then she would go back home.
She blinked. Opened her eyes, sitting in an airplane, in a small seat, clouds outside of the window flying by. She was a wanderer, a gypsy, a traveler, too many words for a girl who felt so small in this big world already. People envied her, wanted to travel like her, wanted to be as restless and free.
But all she wanted was a home. A place where she could stay and that nobody would take from her. She didn't come from one and wasn't going to one. She wished she would. She just wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere, with somebody, at some place. She wanted to let her heart rest, her body sleep and stay.
She used to say, if anybody would give her a reason, she would stay. She would drop her backpack that second and make it work. Let her heart be the guide between possibilities and the unknown, believe that every stop could be the last and that the last could mean forever.
But nobody ever asked her. It intimidated. It scared. Nobody wanted to make her stay, make her come back, make her get on a plane while that was all she was doing anyways. If there was any place that almost felt like home, it was on that seat, on a plane, blinking and dreaming of a world where she would wander but go back home before she woke up.
If there was any place that almost felt like home it was on that seat, on a plane because maybe, just maybe, it was getting her to her last stop, the stop where she would stay and where the last would mean forever. Forever home.