A Simple Day

It's a rainy day. Water is coming down in torrents. It coats the window and everything outside of the train moves in waves. I like to watch the trees as they fly past me, dancing with the water in the window.

The train pulls to a stop, and the dancing world outside my window stands still. Feet are shuffling. A tinny voice, interrupted by a crackle, comes floating out of the air, announcing a name. This is my stop, but as I step onto the platform, I'm almost sad that the ride has to end.

Now I'm waiting for you at the platform. Everyone else has gone, everyone else has sought shelter from the rain, but I am standing on the platform, with my face turned up to the crying skies, my skin drinking in the saltless tears. I cannot wait to see you again, and I wonder where you are, but I know that soon you will come for me. And so I float along the platform, looking for you, waiting for you, twirling and drifting in the rain. My mind dreams of the time when we will be together once again.

But it has been over twenty minutes, and the once mystical rain has now turned harsh and bitter, chilling me through and through to my bones. I am cold and wet, and my sweet dreams have taken their leave of me. I remember your voice on the phone last night. I remember how you sounded so very sad, and how you promised you'd never ever leave me. "Never," you told me, "I love you too much to let you go." The lingering memory of your words warms me, and I force a smile through the cold and the wet. You will come for me. You must come for me.

My heartbeat counts the seconds. My breath counts the minutes. Ten go by.

Then another ten.

And another.

My heart, once swollen with hope and love, is beginning to lose its consistency. Its beats aren't the same: some are skipped; others are added where they're not needed. Where could you possibly be? I have waited over three quarters of an hour, and still you've not come. And now night is falling, and the harsh wind is driving the rain into my face. The saltless tears have turned into bullets of hatred, stinging my own salted cheeks. My face is heated but my body is cold, and I am longing for the scent of the earth to fill my lungs, to be buried amongst the bones of time.

This cannot be happening. You promised me you'd never ever leave me. Your voice, your words, they told me you would always stay. I cannot believe that you would forget me. My life is broken, now. I cannot see that gentle ray of light which I was so convinced would break through this dreary day. Everything is what it appears to be. The tracks are slick and filthy, the ground is covered with trash, and true love is just a joke invented by lonely men and women who have nothing but hope in their lives. Glass is everywhere, broken but not yet shattered. Broken, the way my heart has fallen and cracked. There is nothing magickal about this place. There is nothing left for me here.

That is when I begin to walk. I leave the platform, go up and down the stairs, and a street spreads itself before me. The street is just as grimy as the platform, with steam rising from the pavement. But I walk anyway. There is nowhere else for me to go. And as I walk I'm remembering all of the moments I spent with you, every tender touch and sweet kiss. I wonder if you ever truly loved me. I wonder if it was just a show. You promised me the world, and the stars, and yet now I am walking down this road which is taking me nowhere. And there is nowhere I want to go.

The rain has not let up, and behind me I hear the angry groan of thunder. It is getting darker and darker, but I am still walking to that nowhere place that is waiting for me. I'm listening to my feet hit the pavement, and the cars that drive by me, and I am walking to nowhere for hours and hours.

But nowhere has turned out to be somewhere, for here I am, standing at the top of your driveway. There are only two lights on, and I worry that you are not home, But where else would you be this late? It must be nearly midnight, though the moon is hidden behind sinister clouds. I've been walking for hours and hours, and my nowhere has turned out to be somewhere; a somewhere that is the only where to which I can turn.

I walk up the steps, holding my breath, and I place my finger on the doorbell. There is blood on my hand. Where did that blood come from? My head hurts now, and the doorbell is sharp to my ears. Someone is standing inside, moving to the door, an d I'm praying it is you, because maybe you can tell my why there's blood on my hand, and maybe you can explain why you forgot about me today.

And now the door opens, and you are standing there, eyes filmed over with fatigue, staring blankly at me. I show you my hand, and I ask you what has happened and why didn't you come for me? But, oh, you look so very tired, and now I feel guilty that I have ruined your evening. You haven't spoken yet, and the silence is making my head hurt more than ever. You simply open the door wider, and take my coat.

The house is warm, much warmer than outside, and my face is no longer stinging from those wet bullets or even my own tears. I am with you now, and I can be happy. I should be happy. But you are staring at me, and I know that something isn't right. I ask you what it is, and you point to my hand, my arm, which is bleeding, which has been cut. I don't remember how it happened. My back is facing you now, and you slip your arms around my waist. "You're bleeding," you say, and you're voice is cutting me into tiny pieces. "You need to go to a doctor." But I don't want to go to a doctor; I just want to stay here with you. I ask you where you were today, why you didn't come for me, but you shake your head, and say that I was supposed to come tomorrow and not today, that I had gotten the days mixed up. And now I am happier than ever, because you didn't forget me, you didn't ignore me. But now I am also weaker than ever, and my arm is still bleeding. I wonder vaguely what happened, and vaguely I remember the glass littering the platform and the road, and the ribbons and ribbons of blood. "You're bleeding," you say again, "I'm taking you to the doctor." But I'm not listening to your voice anymore, your voice that I love so well; I've fallen amongst the pretty red ribbons and the never-ending, but so very warm, darkness that has taken my hand. I want you to come with me, and before I fall asleep, I whisper your favourite words, the only thing I could ever give to you. "I love you," and then you're gone.