Who knew such a small piece of paper could hold such power. A side way glance at it reminds me of the words we shared that led to the purchase of a one way train ticket. A mutual decision that it's easier this way.
My suitcase sits agape upon the very bed where we whispered words of forever. You stand silently in the doorway, refusing to make eye contact as you watch bags fill from emptying drawers. I come across a variety of odd mementos that hold meanings no one else would understand; A notebook filled with all the ridiculously cute things you told me when you were half asleep. A candle that was lit the night of our year anniversary that, in later months, was to be thrown at my head for being too stubborn to admit I was wrong. I turn my back for split seconds and find myself losing things already. Where did my grandpa's watch go? I swore I just tossed it into the bag...
You drive me to the station and we awkwardly unpack my bags from the trunk. The weight of our actions thick and heavy in the air between us. Am I making a mistake? The question reverberates in my mind as I catch you stealing a tear away before it stains your face with the finality of the moment. I think of when I would I steal them away with my lips and kiss away the sorrow.
I board the train and take my seat, only to look for you in a sea of people. My brain, knowing instantly what to look for, finds you leaning against a pillar. You're looking at the train but only seeing abandonment and disappointment. I see you absentmindedly pull my grandpa's watch from your pocket as you twirl it in your hands. I let it go.
A man comes by to check my ticket and returns it with a forced smile only the truest of mundane tasks can procure. Is that what happened between us? We could see each other just fine, but did we forget how to look? How to appreciate the small things that brought us together in the first place? I look at my hands and try to see them through your eyes. You had always compared them to trees, tracing each individual line and feeling the knots of my knuckles.
I feel the jolt of the locomotive as it starts the agonizingly slow process of taking off. The rattling of the rails competes with the progressive pace my heart beats as the reality sets in of what we've done. I panic and search for you out the window but you're gone. You've moved on. I bite back the lump in the throat and ignore the stinging in my eyes as I watch the ground fly by. This is the day I left. The day my nightmares began.
