The long route.

The melancholic view of the sky is cut by the green shed over my head. The platform is dusty but I’ve been sitting here for a while now. A metro arrives every few minutes, doors creak open, some people walk in, some walk out, and the doors shut, but I stay frozen. I have earplugs in but they are silent too. No song makes sense anymore. Even the lyrics that could quiver me to my bones feel meaningless.

I don’t wanna get up. Because I know if I did, I’ll take the long route home. Again. I know I’ll travel an extra station just like he used to. And I’ll climb those very stairs again just to stand on the floor that witnessed our first hug. I’m dumb. I’ll do it again for the sake of summer times, for the holding hands, and sharing glance, and the butterflies.

Another train came. Doors creaked open and shut. Strangers disappeared and new ones appeared. I still don’t wanna get up. I just wanna sit and wonder if he too gets off at my station and pretend waiting for 4:15 pm. Pretend waiting till I arrive, just like he used to. Wonder, if he too, just sometimes, climb those stairs again and relive the hug. If he still leans against that railing and wish he could stare into my nervous eyes again. He says he still loves me, but ‘circumstances’ exist. I wonder if he loved me the way I died in his tanned skin, and his eyes, and his cheekbones and the fondling feet under the computer table.

Another train came. Doors creaked open. I walk in. I’ll probably take the long route. I do it every single day. But I know I’ll never give someone so much of me to take a long route again.