Sleepy I found myself on a train. How did I get here? Anyway, I see me, from outside the window and think there you go, someone forgot to pull ourselves together. I have been looking for my soul for so long and now, I should get on that train to take her back. So, I boarded the trolley and reached for the cabin. When I got there, there was no one on the seats. What should I do. Maybe it was a different place. I tried and go through all the train, back and forth, and back again, and forth again. Wherever the train was directed, it seemed to me there was no such thing as a substitute for me or my soul.
Then all of a sudden, I thought about the luggage. You never board a train without a luggage, you never go on a trip, really, without having with you at least your name. My name was right there, on the suitcase that had all my stuff. I had to get off and take a train back, but back where. As well as my name, the bag I had left on the platform contained the departure and arrival information. I couldn’t possibly know all that. I had been tricked into loosing myself, by taking a train that promised me to find that same self.
I so decided to take the first train back. There, once again I saw myself on the stateroom and jumped on that second train. This time it wasn’t a trick, I had nothing else to lose. It should have been true. Once lost everything you can build yourself up a new path, new ideas, a new life. I got into the train and again looking for me, I couldn’t find myself. There was no sign, I would run back and forth, and back and forth. Sweat on my forehead, eyebrows, and chin. Nothing, tricked again by a train that wanted for me to lose the last thing I had with me: hope.
I got back to the station, but my bag wasn’t there. I couldn’t see it on the platform, and I couldn’t see me. I got out and, finally, that carousel split. Now I had one train each side and I was in both of them. There I understood.
I couldn’t find my soul, because that was never an option. I had no body and no soul, no baggage with me. I was just the reflection, on the window of all the train that passed by, of that bystander.
It would have been cool to be alive.
Mi piace
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