I want to stay on the train past the last stop and start over. But the train doesn’t go back. It stays at the last stop. And the last stop is where I live. It’s where I belong, and even if the train were to backtrack, it would be too late, and the stops would be empty or cold and cruel. So I can sit on the train, waiting at the last stop, or I can leave the train and walk home. either way, i’ll be at the last stop. and that’s where i’m staying. we’ve come to a standstill, the end. i miss you, and i don’t know if it’s because i took you for granted, but i want you to know that i’ve found my voice again. i feel like myself again, and i’m mourning the person i never worked up to showing you.
so much wasted time. as if it’d last forever.