The ten forty-five does not stop along the way.
Pushing down the line,
ignoring towns where nothing ever happens,
it keeps on moving.
A suck of air
the only movement
these places ever feel
as with a rattle and crack
we charge through empty stations and lonely platforms,
pulling away from their vacuum and void
ever onwards.

Always heading someplace else,
always searching for someone else.

I sit and watch it pass
thinking only of my destination
the orange glow of streetlights a meaningless blur.
I am waiting for the bridge to come into view
its iron bulk stretching wide across the river
the water black and still, reflecting nothing.
Holding its breath.
Waiting for the train to pass, the people to disembark
before it dares flow again.

The track winds slowly to the left
as we bend and sway towards the platform,
and I see you there, arms by your side
empty,
waiting.
Nails pinch the thick flesh beneath my thumb,
breath whispers through my teeth
and my eyes close, imagining you face
for one last time.