I board the train.
I know where it’s going, the route I’ve done so many times before.
It’s free to ride - I stamp my ticket.
The price another journey of mental self abuse.
The transport is efficient, instantaneously moving me through montages of time we had, at a hint of your scent, a song, a moment which comes to me for no reason at all other than to remind myself what I’ve lost.
Yet the journey is lurching,juddering through all of my memories, inducing sickness as all the familiar thoughts return and I lose the ability to control emotions, the primal yearning, the rawness of my feelings still.
The tunnels are as dark as they are long, unwavering days,weeks,months, where I only have my self, self doubt as to whether I can carry on one more night.
If you ever doubt what mode of transport I’m on, endless loop on rails, never going anywhere apart from back in time.
All I can do is hope the train will derail one day. With me in the drivers seat.