Shooting Stars

Shooting Stars
It was surprisingly easy to become homeless. This notion left her in astonishment, but she lost her train of thought before she could further assess it, startling out of her day dream when the clock struck six. She looked up and traced the monotony of the rails with her eyes until they combined to a single spot in the distance. She squinted, but could not perceive any sign of movement where the twilight had already descended upon the countryside. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she glanced at the clock impatiently, sighing. Though it was not particularly cold this autumn afternoon, she was shivering and looked out for the train that was supposed to arrive any minute now, or so the speaker had announced. She buttoned up the last two knobs of her coat and pulled it tighter around her, never ceasing to hold on firmly to the suitcase situated right beside her.
I should have left a long time ago.
She remembered the day she had come to her resolution. She remembered everything.
She had assaulted him with her decision with no issue of caution, out of the blue. He had just stared at her as if he had known all along, leaning on the doorframe with his hands casually slid down his pockets. Silence filled the room with a sudden swiftness, a silence so loud she could hardly endure it, appalled that this voicelessnes between them could have come so readily, so fatally. Dullness.
She had fruitlessly searched his expressions for traces of despair, pain or, after all, sadness. That night it was as if something had crumbled up in her and died. It had begun to wither a long time ago, yet that night it had perished, and that night it had been her fault. His reaction had been nothing like she had expected, but it had, at least, been a turning point for her. Even disappointments, when they were sound and final, counted for a step forward. It was just impossibly hard to realize sometimes.
Everything is better now.
She tightened the grip on her suitcase when she saw the headlights of the train approaching the station. All of the sudden the platform aroused from the sleepiness of the gloaming evening and there were people everywhere; talking, rushing here and there while the piercing noise of slamming brakes ringed in her ears as the train arrived. It set her into motion, as well, making her heart beat just a little bit faster. She found herself among an aroused mass of people, only one of many, part of the whole. Unlike the others, however, it did not matter to her, if she caught this train, or the next one, or even the one tomorrow. She let her gaze shift slowly along the locomotive. There were already people inside, scattered around the cabins, some of them looking out the windows, curious about who was about to join their journey. She did not realize that she was blocking the entry as people were trying to board the train, until someone reminded her, clearing his throat behind her. She flinched.
It’s time.
She could clearly feel her own heartbeat pounding in her chest, despite all the tumult around her. She swallowed and lifted her suitcase, ascending the steps quickly. Once inside, unfamiliar eyes turned and a rush of helplessness swept through her. She felt exposed and vulnerable when they watched her move, devouring her entirely.
Be strong.
She took a deep breath, corrected her posture and held her head high as she dragged her suitcase through the cabin to find a lone seat. Her face bore a broken smile, but her chest felt like it might burst any second, a feeling all too familiar to her, the feeling of despair and fear, as if something dreadful was going to happen that she could not prevent, something that she could not get a hold on, something out of her control that made her heart beat vigorously, painfully. It made it hard to breathe and panicked her, sometimes when she least expected it, mostly however at night, when she lay awake thinking. It crawled and crept until it possessed her, stealing every thought and chopping it into wild and unavailing pieces.
One time she had told him about this feeling and, with no words of consolation, he had pulled her towards himself, building a castle around her with his arms, as if he could protect her from the world, from all evil this way. She had told him that she never felt like drowning when he was around, that her fear would always lose ground to his presence. That had not been the whole truth. Sometimes it came when they were together. Sometimes, when she thought she knew. It hit her worst then.
She settled in a seat in an empty cabin, placing her luggage next to her. This suitcase held all that meant anything to her now, most everything somehow leading back to him. Her intention had not been to take a lot with her, but eventually she did not leave anything behind except for one. She had loved him against promise, against reason, against peace, against hope, against all discouragement that could be. Despite all that she had loved him and she still did. She had been happy, content and, regardless of everything that happened, home was wherever, whenever she was with him.
Who knew?
Who knew love and hate would come so easily together, that she could so passionately desire and furiously abominate at the same time? She recalled the days, weeks, and months in desolation after she had walked away, waiting for a feeling of indifference to finally catch up with her, a feeling that never came. All that would be over soon, I promise.
Nothing holds me here. Anymore.
She was going to take off and see the world, and build herself a new one while she was at it. And then she was going to forget him. After all, time was the best healer. Or that was what she had told him.
So many lies.
It wasn’t as if anyone got hurt.
Another one.
Over the years she had learned how to mislead people, including him, including herself. She could tell lies without blinking, pretending to be earnest and confident, pretending to be everything she was not. The truth would become more obvious over time, but hopefully she would be far away.
She looked out the window. The night appeared dark and inviting, only from time to time disturbed by fleeting lights, which were lost to sight immediately. They were like shooting stars, georgeous, yet already gone before she had any chance to capture them. They were so evanescant that they vanished when they were most beautiful, giving you only the split of a second to enjoy, to realize, to reconcile. No second chance.
The station had long receded from her view and the train was swiftly heading into the endless expanse of night, away from the place that she had called home ever since. She leaned back into her seat. This was not where she wanted to be, but in the end it did not matter. In the end everything was like shooting stars.