A metaphor for life- The Train

Standing still on the platform, the train speeds past me in a blur of indiscernible colours-
My eyes sting from the rushing air but I refuse to close them; am I stubborn or brave?
People mill around the station, hurrying around, talking in a buzz, I pick out odd words of broken conversations- like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces I hear fractured sentences trailing off into the middle of another.
My hair is flying around me, tendrils of dark curls waving at tracks-
The hum of the voiceover rumbles through the speakers, my train is approaching…
Checking the time table again I reassure myself in amber digits that I know where I am going.
But do I?
Breathing in the polluted air, my lungs fill, and my heart pounds.
Here it is, breaking through the fog the vessel arrives
People spill out of every orifice onto the platform- a wave of humanity, all in a hurry, and me there alone
I reach out for the handle to pull myself up, but I notice someone in the reflection on window-
I can’t see the colour but I know they’re a watery blue, eyes I want to fling myself into, to get lost in,
I make out the dark waves of curls framing his angled face- perfect skin encasing an architectural masterpiece, a cathedral of bones,
And I ready to worship at their alter
Full lips part and out of respect time slows for them, as sweet air is allowed to pass between that hallowed ground.
I am too ready to turn around, to miss the train, and I do-
Letting go of the train I spin, I’m back on the platform
Scanning the crowd frantically as the train behind me starts to rumble,
I’ve lost my angel in the sea of faces-
Torn and desperate I watch as the train pulls away from the station
The platform clears,
And I know,
He was never there,
And now my train has left-
I am left behind.

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