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At The Train Station

It’s been three years since I last set foot in a train station. I, the nomad, have taken root. Naturally curious, I enjoy studying the characters that inhabit certain public places. Y et here, nothing has really changed: though the faces are different, I recognize them all. . * * * Sitting on a large duffel bag, leaning against a wall—there’s the student. He mutters to himself, eyes fixed on a thick blue binder, and despite all the noise filling the station, nothing could tear him away at this hour from his studies. A little further off, I spot a family waiting to greet one of their relatives. The father and mother chat together, glancing every five minutes at the clock. The children play, dart between their legs, circle around them, tap each other shouting, “Tag!” then burst into laughter; they bring into this hall the fresh, colorful breeze of youth. The father looks impatient, but on his face I can read a certain joy; he seems to be holding back a smile. As for the mother, however...

I Remember - 12

Man thinking - Photo de Nathan Cowley: https://www.pexels.com/fr-fr/photo/photographie-de-mise-au-point-peu-profonde-d-un-homme-portant-un-polo-rouge-920036/

 

I remember the unbearable wait for a reply to that letter... those lunch breaks when I’d rush home just to check my mailbox: those trips filled with excitement... and those returns filled with disappointment that buried my head deeper into the icy sand of silence…


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I remember cursing the Post Office…


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I remember telling myself that I had to know, at all costs, what had happened.


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I remember those two phone calls to your company that never reached you…


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I remember that feeling of rejection growing stronger and stronger as the days went by... and those question marks multiplying endlessly in my mind…


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I remember considering going to your place... then the moment I told myself that, even if I didn’t understand what had happened, I had to respect your choice and the silence you opposed—and imposed—on me…


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I remember the darkness that then engulfed my soul and that mourning I could not bear…


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I remember my life falling apart: the abandoned paintbrushes, the conflicts at work, the lights going out and colors fading…


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I remember the gray sky and the rain becoming my constant backdrop…


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I remember realizing that the only thing I cared about in life was experiencing the love I felt with you… Everything else lost its meaning and could never compete with you or compensate for your absence…


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I remember cursing the Universe for letting me meet you and experience this unbearable loss…


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I remember thinking I couldn’t see how to continue living after all that… Nothing made sense anymore; everything seemed so futile and pointless…


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I remember wanting to bow out of this world… but the thought of destroying the lives of my loved ones… and knowing that death wouldn’t solve anything… dissuaded me…


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I remember thinking that living was now, for me, a punishment... What had I done in this life—or in another—to deserve this suffering?…


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