I am waiting for the train to come, but it will take a while. I see other trains passing by, half empty and illuminated on the inside by neon lights flooding the scene with loneliness, as if to recreate an Edward Hopper painting. The street lamps shoot piercing arrows of light, radiating a cold, knowing aura, exposing the people shuffling past anxiously. The lamps seem to shine through the passers by, seem to put their inner loneliness on display for all to see.
My train arrives, I step inside, sit down and wait. I look around, mustering people. Men are singing at the other end of the train, enjoying a night of drunken escapism.
The train stops at my station and I get out. I walk along a dark path, alongside a little stream hidden by trees on either side. Through them I see the faint stars providing me with the little light I have, making me feel small. I start to think.
I am euphoric at the darkness and intimacy and silence of the path, but this euphoria soon fades as I reach the road. The moon hangs above the end of the road, as if it were beckoning to me to change direction, to embark on a new path, to run. I resist the temptation. I regret resisting.
In my back yard, the moonlight illuminates my dying roses. I smile, thinking back to a few months ago, where I’d sworn to myself not to be let down again. I was going to discipline myself, to make a new start.
I lost a chance and I ruined things even more, it was all my fault, I tell myself bitterly.
I enter the house.
