A train arrives tonight.

This is your train.

You study the platform and study the booth that protects you from the light rain.

And nothing is honest and nothing is certain.

You know that you're leaving, but you're smart, and you know that once you get halfway there, you will simply be arriving.

You wait for the train and the train never comes.

You drink.

The train never comes.

You recognize that, at some long ago moment, you were bright, unencumbered, hopeful. These moments seem brilliant.

But the lens is too hazy to make sense of the past or seek assurance for the future.

So you're waiting for some damned train, and your arms are shaking because you can't afford those nice luggage bags with the handles.

You stand at the tracks with your life in your arms.

Your ticket gets punched. Nothing makes sense. You are alone, maybe lonely.

You're waiting for a train that will take you away from yourself. The destination is a new beginning. Every stop, though, becomes a temporary destination.

The train never comes.