The Train Station

With my back against the cool stone wall of the train station, I stare up at the swirling clouds of the autumn sky. It’s not so different, I think, from a day woven into my memory, on which the sky was just as bright and just as blue. It is the same sky after all, even if it is only a memory. I can almost hear the laughter of the voice I lost long ago. A voice that knew no grey winters, and no sleepless nights. The laughter seems to sing in my ears as the sky grows closer, and in my memory, my hands wrap tighter around the chains of a swing. The sounds of children playing echo around me. The cool air rushes through my hair and I close my eyes as the ground grows smaller and further away. The sky is endless and the sunlight is warm on my face. But the distance between me and the sky grows, just slightly, then all at once. And I am leaning against the cool stone wall again. A soft melody plays in my headphones as a sweet voice sings of times past.

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