“When were you last happy?
I mean, like… really happy?”

A casual question with deep undertones,
thrown across the peeling formica of
a roadside diner in that strange intimacy
of strangers travelling together.
I have no ready answer; since the wedding,
marred by selfishness, a constant litany of complaint
has sapped my strength until I hardly care.

Brief moments, maybe –
the empty, sunlit compartment
of an express train heading west;
first steps on a Holy Mountain,
finding four days for my soul;
the hush when the family slept,
and the terminal flickered in the dark.

Now, on the run at last,
escaping the ties that held me down,
I look up, look deep into the green eyes
studying me, and see a new chance
of fleeting happiness, owing nothing
to anyone and everything to the road.
I smile, and look to the future again.