You’re nothing. You’re everything. The train moves, not taking us to the station that it should. It turns out that it doesn’t stop there. It turns out that we lost it, that we took the one that was going in the opposite direction, and on top of that it doesn’t have air conditioning. I see you through the window as we cross, opposite directions, sparks jump. I stick my hand to the glass. Round trips. Trains can’t be lost, just the second chances.
I drag my feet down the platform, I almost lost this night’s last one, forgot the ticket, lost my wallet, confused the address. Dawns, but I’m still late for my destination. I walk on the platform on a starry night, and forget the direction that should take.
North and south, changes and aces.
Up my sleeve.
My life is the train. The one who left without me, the one who stood there, the one who never started. The opposite direction, is the change and the three transfers, is the green haze, is acid rain. It is an eternal station, each platform, a destination.
And how to know which one to take?