Sometimes life feels
like a train station,
some depart wearing
suits and ties,
with heavy leather
bags dangling
from their hips
as if to show the
world how strong
their legs are.
Others arrive
with their heart
bleeding from
their sleeves,
with PTSD
and memories of
ruins of war
that change their
perspective as
they drag their feet
on shiny marble
tiles that got
polished the
night before,
so they glide
through their way
home.
I’ve departed before,
I’ve felt the
cocoon inside
my stomach
hatch into butterflies,
as the tip
of my fingers felt
the inside
of a train that no
longer will
arrive to this station.
Since I’ve
been back,
the sky
hasn’t been
the same shade
of blue,
or the stars haven’t
flickered the
same Morse code,
but “I’ve won”
I say to myself,
not by chasing the train,
but by letting it pass,
by finding calm
in the station,
and in the realization
that my journey
is where I stand amongst
the multitude of people,
a sea of
distinguishable universes,
each with their destination,
succumbed by life and its mysteries.
I’m glad,
for them, for all of us.