Moving Train
I’m here, at the breaking point.
Coming apart as if these pieces never held
Why I wanted to be here, in this rusted, lifeless cabin, I can’t recall
There is no memory of the purpose that set me on this journey
No recollection of the madness that drove me to get on board
And now, this train is moving, going to a place I no longer want to be
I knew this would happen, prepared for it
They promised there would be discomfort, despair, doubt
But I knew it would be worth it, because I wanted to go to Somewhere.
Going there was everything.
Something changed.
And now, I don’t want to go to Somewhere. Not today, not ever.
Still, I’m still on this train, with no option, save to suffer in silence
Unless …
I shudder at the thought.
I told everyone I would get to Somewhere.
They’ve looked on for months, watching, waiting.
I hear their voices in the wind: “She won’t get there. Her kind, they jump.”
And what if I end up wanting to go to Somewhere, again?
There would be no train to take me. What would I do then?
I look outside, at the freedom that beckons, willing all my ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’ to be silent
I have to get off this train. I have to jump. But it will mean going back, starting over They will say I failed, tell my story to those that come after me.
Everyone will know I took the wrong train. I will prove them right.
So, I stay. For them, the faceless voices.
