The Track of Patience

On either sides of a track we stand, awaiting for the train that arrives everyday. We wait. Silently, in anticipation of things that await us on the other side as we wait on the sides of each other’s dreams. A silence too loud that we turned away from each other for a moment to pretend a preoccupation. A preoccupation of eyes piercing deeper into the expanse of that track for a sign of the train that will liberate us from this anxiety. Yet no pretence survives long in a world of temptation. So, I did look and so did he, searching in each other’s eyes for the happiness that either of us strived to find in each other’s sides. It’s an irony after all, how we both want to leave each other’s home to reach our dreams. His home, my dream. My home, his dream. An irony that makes me wonder whether it is right to depart this side that another so desperately wishes to arrive to. Nevertheless, I push away the thought, for the happiness that I so expect is just steps away separated by a track of patience. Still waiting, patience dripping off my body. I could sense his body shake too like mine in fear of turning human and dashing across that track but then the train could arrive, unpredictable as always and shatter all that we dreamed in a second of impatience. Thus, I held on to myself collecting the drops of patience left in the mind of my heart. But as I wondered how he survived the wait, in a second, he ran, our  eyes piercing each other’s more than ever as he ran and ran his way across the track. My eyes beckoning him to turn back for I could see what was invisible to him. The train. In a moment that felt longer than the wait, he had vanished. Only the train between me and the other side, as it shouted it’s way through, narrating the story of a man who had a dream. As it left, I could see the dream that I had waited for,  where now there was no one to search for happiness in. As I took my steps towards it in a broken stride contradicting my wait, I crossed the track where a man who also had a dream died. Arriving to his home, I looked back at mine unconsciously searching for him to see the happiness of reaching his dream. But there was no one. As I turned back, a tear rolled off my cheek instead of a smile, for the man whose eyes gave me strength could not find strength in mine. My home, now laid bare, for no one had arrived to replace what I had taken away.


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