The train hums like a memory
soft and slow through time—
a moment caught between gazing days
we lost, and hope we move forward.

Scenes flicker through the windowpane—
a mother’s wave, a lover’s stare
a strangers stealing glances
but never the courage to speak.

We travel fast, yet feel so still
in silence, we are seen—
as glances bloom like fragile love
in places we have been.

And maybe time is not a line
but tracks we ride again—
The train moves on
your soul intact, your past in every pane
each stop a reminder, each start a chance
to feel, to fall, to mend.
And every stop—
a chance to choose
To lose or love again.


Erennwrites