forwards beckoning.

 the girl on the train wasn't always the girl on the train. she didn't always want to be on the move. 

she once used to sit in the passenger seat of a car while her father drove it.

but that was a long time ago.

but it felt like she was 8 just last week. 

she was just 8 last week.

*

it was difficult being apprehensive all the time, for her. but that is the way of life. passengers on a train came and went. 

they always got down at their stop. and that is the way of life.

she saw her father after years. he looked older. greyer. crow's feet when he laughed. whenever he did.

and now the train only looked forward.

but he took the seat at the back. and he always wished they'd go back.

trains don't go backwards.

i'm sorry, he said. he stroked her hair, like fathers do.

the girl sobbed. 

and she took the seat in the front.

forwards beckoning.

*

one day, he jumped. 

out the window he would always look out of.

nothing dramatic. 

and it wasn't censored, the blood and the pain. nothing out of frame.

the little girl left her seat and she collected the remains.

all those that watched, all those that spoke

did not love him half as much as she did.

but she did not speak. not a word.

they all felt sorry. very sorry.

but not enough to protect her. not enough for resolution.

she knew it was not her fault, but it was her responsibility. 

she picked up all his bones.

she walked down the steps and let the train leave,

knowing it wouldn't return.

i'm sure we're taller in another dimension

you say we're small and not worth the mention

you're tired of movin', your body's achin' 

we could vacay, there's places to go

clearly, this isn't all that there is 

can't take what's been given

but we're so okay here, we're doing fine 

she sat at the bus station, not knowing when the bus would come. full of uncertainty. surrounded by people who didn't know her.

who said they knew her.

who wanted to know how she did what she did.

there came with the boy with the big eyes. 

and she couldn't recognize him any more.

or maybe it didn't matter anymore.

she no longer remembered why she wanted the window seat.

or when last anyone had let her have one.

*

she sat there, rain surrounding her. 

wondering how much of herself she had lost on a train ride.

how much she still had left to lose.

it was once he left that she realized she loved him as much as she did.

that she needed him. 

she needed to know he was there, somewhere.

that she could run home one day. however difficult it was.

she refused to speak about him.

none of his virtues, none of his vices.

and she understood that she would never love someone like that again.

and perhaps she never had

before him.

suddenly she felt naked in front of a hungry audience.

and she made sure that they would never see her cry again.

and she'd take care of herself

like he had told her to.

like he couldn't.

like all the others couldn't.

like nobody would ever.

i'm sorry, she said. to him. 

to herself.

*

she could hear the train engines from afar. 

without her.

forwards beckoning.

*