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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...
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Falling Out Of Love

Man looking out a window - Photo de Rene Terp: https://www.pexels.com/fr-fr/photo/photographie-en-niveaux-de-gris-d-un-homme-face-a-un-panneau-de-verre-25759/
 

Falling out of love is a terrible thing… In the whirlwind of discovery and passion, we shape the other in the image of our dreams and desires. Then time forces them to reclaim their true place… The lines blur, distort, shatter… the colors fade… For a while, we try to adapt, convincing ourselves that their flaws are charming, amusing, endearing quirks. But slowly, the ‘us’ fades, and the ‘I’ regains its strength… The mind takes over, eclipsing the heart. The children we once were become adults again…

A phase of tolerance begins—we reason with ourselves, telling ourselves that perfect, everlasting love is just a utopian illusion, that we must accept the little things that bother us and focus on what’s beautiful in them… Positivity, the survival instinct of love, the half-full glass mindset…

Then comes the moment when habits take hold. Passive acceptance. Resignation. The other becomes a fixture in our lives, like a piece of furniture… until fatigue and reflection creep in. We begin analyzing everything, questioning everything: ‘Do we truly have that much in common?’… ‘Do we have a future together?’… ‘I don’t miss her when I’m alone… Do I still love her?’… ‘Did I ever truly love her?’… And slowly, everything unravels…

We leave… once… twice… too many times… only to return because they beg us, because guilt gnaws at us for causing their pain. Sacrifice. By then, it’s already over, but the heart keeps resisting—until the final separation. You never know when it will happen… It’s sudden, unpredictable. It starts with something trivial—a meal we’ve prepared that they don’t appreciate—an excuse we seize upon. The final straw.

We slam the door. This time, we stop answering the phone. We delete their messages without reading them. And the ‘I’ reigns once more…

 

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