A Train Passed By


Berkhamstead train station, 2200 on a Monday night. I was waiting to get back London and a train passed by. It’s not for boarding. Not every train that passed by would bring me closer to you.

Some trains are for the camera, to open its shutter for a second, to record an image of the occurence, when we passed by each other, the wind brought with it your smell. This is how you passed me by: you could not stop, you swept up my coat, ruffled my hair, you were too fast for the camera, and in my hunger, I almost thought you were salmon for dinner. When I finally saw you not through the lens, you blew me a sweet farewell and lost shape into the shadows of the night. But you were still here. You came into my camera. And that will stay with me.