Where To.

“Where to.” He asks, without looking back at me. It’s okay, I don’t matter.

“Train Station” I say back, there’s no emotion in my voice, I’m all cried out, I hope. We pull off and he takes me away from here for the last time. I know I’ll never come back, even if I was wanted again, even if he begged, pleaded, I wouldn’t.

There are some things you can’t take back.

So be it.

We slide along familiar streets, life flashing by my steamed up window. I wish he’d turn on the radio, the silence is daring me to fill it with the same questions he probably gets 15 times a day, maybe — no.

I take my sleeve and wipe a patch on the window so I can see through it again, the drive drives most people inside, it’s been so nice recently, maybe we were due some rain. Pathetic fallacy, that’s what they call it, isn’t it?

I feel pretty fucking pathetic right now. But I don’t want to think about it, drag myself back over the hot coals of the details. They don’t matter.

I’ve come a long way.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing a place so well, wondering if you’ll ever be back, knowing deep down you won’t, this is the last time, this is it.