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.