Dear K.

How many nights have I spent like this? Alone, at a train station, perhaps a bus stop or an airport. These places are meant for passing through, not for remaining still. It is when you use them counter to their purpose that they become great stages upon which life unfolds. Like looking through a million windows. I try to decipher who has had a bad day, who kissed someone goodbye in the morning. Who but me is a stranger to this place?

Honestly, I don’t know anyone who has spent so many hours waiting, anticipating, in these clusters of transit. In a city where I have no place I will often surrender to the only place that will have me – the train station. When my feet hurt there is a seat and a place to put my bags, and perhaps a better destination at the end of the line. And sometimes, even if I know better, I imagine you are waiting there, a car full of music and conversation, food wrappers, dog hair and home. K, how many times have you waited for me? How many dark, cold stations have you sat and wondered if I would be there? I want nothing more than to indulge in these memories of your face in the dark train station, lit by a lighter, patient to hear the stories I brought. But there is no place for that anymore.

I try to look back and find that the hours we spent in transit together are unfathomable. Too many to even remember. Every problem in the world could be solved in your car. It must be why I now find so much comfort in these places, lingering in the spirit of change.

I miss you, K. But I am too proud to admit it. Either way, I can always find you when I’m moving – at least in spirit.



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