Though I worry myself to pain,
And the wind unrelenting blows.

There is solace in the sight of an oncoming train.
Sometimes I wonder if the conductor knows.


Every evening at half past five
I board with no real destination.
His gentle voice asking for my ticket keeps me alive.

Though my daily absences keep raising questions.
This band around my finger has grown too tight.

He, acting less as a husband, more as a victor. Nailing my shoes to the floor so I can't leave at night.

Still my mind always drifts back to my train conductor.