Train Station

The end of the line. It came faster than we thought.

I had told you that it would come soon. At the time, you had protested. You said there was no way it would happen, because people were different. You were different. And yet we're here, exactly where I had predicted. You can't deny that you sped up the wheels and pushed us here all the faster.

Had I added coal to the fire? Probably. Those words and mistakes hadn't done anything to cool the fires. But you're the one who gripped the handle and steered us to a stop.

Now we're here, standing in this empty compartment and debating what step to take next. You don't want to leave, you claim. I know I don't, although some days I feel I would be better if I did, and then you say that you feel we've changed.

Those words alone are enough to have my blood boiling. I've always been hopeful, you know that. I'm stubborn and stupid and I hope, as long as there's any kind of chance, I hope. You know that, and now it's obvious that you just dragged this all out, purposely or not. You have us standing here like idiots because you think I'm fragile and I'm in too deep.

I want to yell. I want to call you out on your bullshit and blame you and curse you but I can't. Because somehow, despite all this, I still care. I still think of you as a friend and someone important and despite my mind saying I could be happier, I want to stay too.

So we stand like idiots, waiting, and trying to figure out if we should step off the train and go our separate ways or pull back out of the station and try to find a happier location.