Initially, there was always a basic, primal attraction. She liked people for positive attributes: their beauty, wit, humour; a twinkle in their eye, the sharp line of their jaw, the resonance of their laugh.
Ultimately, however, she loved people for their quirks and their flaws. She loved people for their vulnerability and for what they could do to her — the more devastating the better. She could never love someone who was perfect, complete, unbroken.
Standing on the platform — toward the end where the light flickered occasionally — waiting for her train, she glanced at the people around her. Many of them were constants — they were her 7:20 group, creatures of habit. They were aware of each other, but there was never any outward acknowledgement between them — never so much as a smile or a nod was exchanged on that platform. At most, they sent each other cursory glances.
An icy draught carried the scent of morning rain and cut grass through the station. She pulled her coat closer around her and closed her eyes, imagining, willing the breeze to take her away, to scatter her into a million pieces like a dandelion blown away for a wish.
When it passed, she let out a sigh and opened her eyes. She was still here.
pistachio conspiracy #63 
Nice imagery!
Great start Sharon.😊