Countless times I've left this house, each time turning my head back as if an invisible chain were tugging at my throat, but now I can look straight ahead without hesitation. The wheels roll steadily, harmonizing with the soft tinkling of the wheels gliding over pebbles. I never realized how beautiful these two paths have been all these years. The lush green rows of trees, linked together like endless mountain ranges. Occasionally, I catch sight of a few small houses with red smoke rising, carrying the scent of burning pine in the middle of the fields. I feel an immense sense of peace. So, this is what it feels like to live life on your own terms! I've finally found it!
An emotional farewell takes place at the train station. My mother, Diana, Thena, and David, everyone is in tears. I don't know what else to do except promise that I'll be okay and that I'll write often. Francine is constantly "receiving" hugs and head pats from her uncles and aunts, to the point where she cries and demands to be held by her mother. Today, Landry, Eddie, and little George also bid me farewell. We stand here, hand in hand, eyes locked, yet lost for words beyond well-wishes and promises.
Saying goodbye has never been easy. It's hard to bid farewell to those who have shared so many memories, knowing that they will remain here. Francine and I step onto the train releasing smoke into the bright sky with eyes brimming with nostalgia. The smoke drifts westward, while the train heads east. I stand on the platform gazing at their figures growing smaller and smaller until they vanish completely. Francine must have seen my reddened eyes, as she approaches and hugs me. I hold her, letting her take one last look at her homeland. My tears flow forward, but they are tears of hope. The train whistle sounds three times in succession. The waves lap beneath the train, and an unfamiliar feeling begins. I stand there, watching as the world that once meant everything to me slowly shrinks, until even the train seems solitary amid the vast, desolate sea.
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In my hand, I hold the worn and tattered fabric bag I knitted for him. The day it was returned to my possession was also the day I received news of his passing. Inside the envelope, along with hastily written letters, are short poems he composed to alleviate the moments of longing. I smile faintly. I've held on for too long, it seems. For years, I couldn't confront it, as I thought he had left, taking his remaining sky with him. The train whistle snaps me back to the present. I will live for him. Not because I will forget him like the other men who've passed through my life, but quite the opposite—because I love them. If I still have time, I'll continue to cling to and cherish it. They are my purpose in life, the ideals I will pursue. Those beloved men have taught me invaluable lessons. I may be a slow learner, but eventually, I will grasp them.
I let go, dropping the knit bag deep into the cold ocean. For a moment, there's a twinge of regret, but then a sense of lightness. I smile gently, then step down from the railing. The old chapter is closed, and now I'll begin the pages of a new one. I sit in my room, a fresh notebook in my hands. Holding the pen, my face contemplates, wondering where to start. Then I smile as if I've discovered a masterpiece centuries in the making. I diligently write the first lines.
"My name is Fiona, Fiona Lamstrong-Morten…"