My 5pm train is pulling from the station, and I find myself not on it. I’m lost in the footprints spread under me. I will die in these footprints, just as I have lived in them. And somewhere down this path, I hope to find a greater meaning in that.
I could follow these train tracks back on home. Back to you and back to my life. Train tracks, like bread crumbs, that will lead me back to those old creaky steps my feet know so well. The ones that once held us up when nothing else would. Where the porch light awaits me in the night. And the ache enters with every breathe of air. Every inhale stains my further filling lungs with their absence. The shadow of this has rooted itself into my chest. I miss you, I miss him, I miss her. I miss my life and I miss the warm summer air and the words we used to share. I miss all those people connected to the finger prints left behind.
And if I keep chiseling pieces for all the new places and faces there will be nothing left of me. I will never catch that train home, and I will never be adequate enough to pick up the life I left behind with the thought of someday coming back to. The life that silently swept me under the rug.