Like stations. These steps. On the course of a lifetime.
A place of passage. Beam. Brewing. Speed, excitement, excitement. Crying, leak. Trains arriving from nowhere. Bound for anywhere, as long as it is elsewhere. Travelers. Visitors. Those arriving. Those who leave. Those who stay on the dock because they are abandoned, or because they never had the courage to leave with another. Those living in these tunnels covered and open to the universe of possibilities.
I like to hang out. To breathe air polluted and noisy screeching rails, grating, and cables which hang trains. Like so many lives that are hanging by a thread of energy. It is sometimes said that you would rise well in a car lane Z. Or at the last moment it would not to BX, channel A. And we would leave at ELSEWHERE. In any other set, but ELSEWHERE.
- toudoudoug ... traveler information. Train No. 000 000 departing from there and destination OTHERWISE, enter the station at 00.00, Wharf possible channel 0.
Changing lanes. Change your life. At the speed of a TGV or a coral. Noisy and uncomfortable to the rhythm of this old sedan that stops at every tiny little station. The backwoods. It never goes there. But you look out the large glass window, muddied by the sticky fingers are glued to it and never wiped the steam. The eyes are alpagués by landscapes you will never see that by far. A pretty little house. Yet some anonymous people who have their own unique life and background more or less heavy to carry. It is projected behind the track and the footprints left by these anonymous on what may be their life. We said we would be this life. Like
stations. I like seeing couples who are unable to separate. Lovers, who has a part y 'and the other remains. Alone. Dockside. Like a boat on the shores of life. Pain of abandoning the other. Pain of being forced to leave. Open wound because the other is mounted with you. Pain of those remaining. It
always more or less like this in life. Has it always someone who does not want to leave, while the other will not stay. Yet, there's also those people traveling together: they found themselves one day and are at the right time H, the D-Day, in the same station G to take the same train 000, for the same destination D . That's a lot of circumstances brought together, for that to happen. It is the luck of life, this. I liked
stations. Because I dreamed that one day he and she would stop cross, to miss, to expect one another. I thought it would one day although the appointment, since they already were found. It was not so bad. It was a stroke of luck. Or a thunderbolt. And then there 's
had the crap. And it became a rant.
So I gave him an appointment in the station that day, at this hour to ride together in the same train of life. I was hoping there would be. I was hoping to hurt me. Too bad. I was bursting is not already there. But with or without him, I would climb that I m'disais this train from nowhere to take me elsewhere, where dreams are possible again.
It never came. He arrived too soon: I was not there. After he was already gone. Maybe it happened too late. Or maybe is it never came. I will never know.
I got on the train. That of life. Without him.
And since I try to forget that amount, I think that's his hand that I would have liked to hold.
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