I am standing at a train station. Waiting, for I know not what. A train is blurring past. The force of its speed blows tendrils of my hair up and away from my neck. In the windows, I see familiar faces.
Familiar in the sense I know their names, and parts of their history.
And by the looks in their eyes, I know they know mine.
But they are on the train, and I am not.
I am waiting.
Will the train slow down, or will it accelerate out of sight, and I, out of their minds?
I could have been on that train, but I chose not to be. Instead, I went to a far-away land, where I had adventures, and changed.
But I'm back, trying to gauge if I should chance it, and hop on.
Will there be room? Is there any use? I know I'm not staying long. I supposed to get off at the next stop.
Maybe I should I wait for the next train?
Life doesn't give us a timetable.
