"You know, there's a train leaving town. If you hurry up I think you just might make it."

Quiet. You don't say that you'll come and stop me. You don't say: "I love you." And you don't tell me I'm wrong.

But what you really don't say is that you won't.

So when the phone clicks I just say:

"I hope you make it."

x

"You know," I say to your voicemail again. "I think I romanticized too much. We weren't a love story."

Two lovers kiss goodbye on the edge of the tracks.

"I loved you, that's true. It scared you off, I know that much. Not too far though, just into the arms of someone safer. Someone proper. Someone who wasn't too risky. Someone…"

The words rolled along my tongue.

"Mediocre. You're afraid of greatness. You and I were the perfect match. That doesn't add into mediocrity very well. We would've been bigger. We wouldn't have settled in a white picket house."

The woman stands and watches as her lover's train slowly disappears.

"We would've made the world our playground."

The message cuts off, and the train station bench is just cold.

x

"You won't even turn on your phone. I'm waiting for you. Stop being scared. Come stop me."

x

"You were the only person who has ever broken my heart. I hope you're happy with your picket fence."

x

When the station last call rings, the phone is still blank. It's not that I'm shocked. I'm not.

At all.

So I pick up my bag and step up. Shuffle right by the attendant and right by the little girl who says: "I like your hair."

When people quiet down, I'm right by the window, staring at my phone. Staring. Staring. Staring.

A woman says: "Miss?" and there is a paper in my hands. She doesn't say anything else. Just gives me a sad smile and walks by with her little girl.

The little square looks like a suicide note.

Outside the window you're standing there with arms in your pockets and my heart in your hands.

The train lurches and I feel nothing, looking at the paper in my hands.

You were always braver than me.

Don't ever look back.