midnight train

the night was noiseless, so I had to talk. But I needed place, ‘anywhere’ didn’t seem viable enough as the moment saw it. Consciousness came with this ‘no vacancy’ sign, and I had decided to sit it out anyway. On a pair of legs and a changing road.

“I don’t drink.”

“I don’t play football.”

And I saw her smile, between me and her. And I smiled back because I got to see her for once at a place where I’ve not kept her but where she actually could choose to be. Because I know she won’t choose me, the ‘Which Will’ way and that’s knowing asphalt by the crunch of it.

“I’m this…”, I began, only to shake my head. “Consciousness freak, I... cannot let anything control my emotions, I… cannot lose my emotions… palm-of-my-hand, you know-”

“Do you really think I don’t see what’s coming?” she cut me across, when she wasn’t listening.

Gesticulation, overdramatic pauses and excessive emphases? I should stop writing dialogue.

Writing’s all about writing what you don’t think you should be writing anyway. But how would that work? You know what, I don’t want to write this.

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I think ‘Once’. I’ve this vivid visual of Glen kissing Marketa on her cheek and a dying sort of audio on ‘When your mind’s made up’, but is it only natural that I think that? Although it is unnatural that I seem to be going with a force of nature than conjuring up my own toothpick bit of bravery.

“but you are just a wisp of smoke,

in daffodils and diamonds, clothed;

no ocean strained,

no feather moved,

as off my chest to the world I blew…”

These bunch of lines are serving to be my present ‘Northern Sky’, the sort that gets me emotionally soaked within a moment of construction and faithful recount. Of hours of thoughts in the minutes I felt them, the time where my clock had stopped to pass me by. And then I think of the times that I looked down on the road that I was walking on and waking myself up from this state of mind that only completely refused to believe that I was where I was.

Like the time when I absolutely need a sign of green to let it flow; to let it grow. And it’s like these trains are full of people who aren’t meant to be leaving in the first place, and that they’ve stoked its chimneys full to fit a million years of stay.