Image: © John_Nature_Photos, Pixabay License, Source.
Author: Iris Low
How lifeless do the small train stations here seem. With all the streetlights’ trembling glow, one would think to cross a face nearby. But there isn’t any. Not a soul.
I can hear some cars driving by at a distance as they slowly fade away in dissonance with the crickets’ orchestra from the trees and bushes nearby. Funny how cold this place feels in the middle of summer. I feel swallowed in the deadening noises from afar, which sound so peaceful, regardless of their loneliness. And every now and then a train rushes by, but never stops. It is full of lights and full of life. Everything seems to rush by me these days and I never seem able to catch up. Just like those trains. Everything seems to go by, without ever stopping for me. That is how disconnected I feel about everything going on around me. Everyone is walking by and going about their day, and their life, while I feel stuck in the mud they stomp their feet on.
I know you were the one who always asked questions, but I wonder, how many people, do you think, have bid each other farewell on this gloomy platform? Was it a tearful one? Or was it dry? And how many people have reunited here? What did it feel like? Did they feel a rush down their spine when they embraced again? How long did they have to wait?
How long will I have to wait? You are leaving within a week. In four days we’ll be sharing our last goodbye on some other dark, cold, and lonely platform. Will you feel as shattered as I will? Do you even feel anything for me anymore? Anything at all? Or has my meaningless existence descended within the shrieking silence of your disinterest? I feel as though your affections for me have rushed by me like those trains, long, long ago. How could you have left me here? Was there no room left on the train for me? Or are you lingering on another forgotten platform too?
Where can I find you?
Which train must I take to reach you?
I’ll take any train, any one that will lead me back to your arms. I miss their warmth. I miss feeling your fingertips on my back. Do you miss feeling your lips touching mine too? I miss your fragrance and I miss the soft timbre of your voice. I miss how young you made me feel.
I miss dancing with you at the lake next to the ducks, like two children in love. In messy, really messy love. Two messy children in messy love. ‘Love’ or, ‘little white lie’, whatever you may call it.
I miss listening to your heart drumming through your chest all the way to my ear; to my heart; to the very depths of my fragmented soul. Or whatever is left of it, I suppose.
I hope one day we’ll meet again. On the platform where souls intertwine, and sunflowers flourish in winter; under the moon’s crystal gaze.