A step onto the edge of the platform makes my heart
Sink and break into a million tiny, irreparable pieces.
I stand with a suitcase in each hand, the wind billowing around my lonesome figure;
A faint whistle of the approaching train sounds in the distance
And I breathe in the crisp, cool autumn air and ready myself
For the train's slow and steady arrival.
I look behind me again, just like I have for the past hour,
Foolishly hoping someone would walk out from the crowd
Of strangers and take my hand, asking me to stay;
But the murmur of angry businessmen is the only thing that stands out.
My one-way ticket to a foreign city flaps in a sudden torrent of wind,
I put a hand to my throat as I choke back a soundless sob,
My ears are tricked into believing that I hear a voice calling
To me from somewhere in this train station.
I glance around one final time, the train pulling to a stop
In front of my shaky silhouette. My eyes graze over the faces,
But none match the face that is embedded in my memory;
My shoulders visibly slump and my lips slightly tremble.
The conductor calls for the people to board, I hastily
Make my way to the door and wait in line
To have my ticket punched.
As I handed it to him, he tipped his hat and smiled at me
With his soft brown bifocal-guarded eyes.
I smiled and nodded politely before making my way to a window seat,
My luggage resting in the seat beside my own,
I looked toward that old cobblestone platform and began to cry
As the realization settled within my aching, raw, soul.
No one cared that I had left,
No one tried to make me stay,
No one was bothered when I packed,
No one batted an eye as I walked away.
This train station is the grand love, and heartache,
Of my youth.
