Station is an essay written by the letterthief and shared with The Ugly Writers under the theme Terrible Ideas for the month of July.

 

Station

 

It has been what? 5 years? 6 years? I’ve lost count of it now, actually. But I can still remember where you left me, physically and emotionally. I can still remember where you left me, us, everything about us, what we had, have and could’ve.

You left me there standing in the middle of a crowded train. You walked out of the closing doors in a rush. You didn’t turn to look back at me, you just walked away. I remember it clearly. I wanted us to talk things, because frankly it was never, still is, clear to me why you’re leaving all of a sudden. I asked you if we could talk, but you never responded. I pleaded to you, begged you even to talk to me but you just said you’re done. Your reasons felt like childish excuses to me, to everyone around me.

So, I went out to the city where you work to see you in person, to talk to you in the face, so that you couldn’t avoid me anymore. But it shattered me more when I saw you. It broke me into a million pieces when you started running away from me the moment you saw me. It was heartbreaking. Am I disgusting? Am I repulsive? I just wanted to talk.

But you ran, and I chased after you. Keeping a short distance between us, I followed you home, a place where we had a lot of memories. It was just a train ride away from your home, but little did I know that this train ride would finally be the last straw.

We rode the same train; you knew I was there with you. I was keeping an eye in you because you might run away again. I needed to talk to you. One station before yours, just as the doors were closing you hurriedly walked out. It took me by surprise because you got off at a different station. I followed you but the doors shut close right in front of me, and that’s where it hit me. How badly you want to get away from me, how you deliberately got off one station early to avoid me, how you just left me without looking back as the doors slam in front of me, much like you shutting me off completely.

And I was left there, in the middle of a crowded train, thinking, breaking, and crying. I just wanted to ask one thing. How? How can you just easily walk out on us?

Years after I don’t know if I’m over or not, if I’m healed or not, if I loved myself more or not. I don’t know yet, it haunts me still, that the one I loved for all of my childhood years and until then, decided to just simply walk away.

But maybe it’s better to not know what the real reason is than to know that there’s nothing at all. And so, as I rode this train which reminded me of that day, I’m letting go of my what-ifs and giving up on trying to find the reasons in our break up that has now just become a memory I’d never want to remember again.

 

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