I heard that you had been back to visit the old town where we grew up and shared our first secret. It has been years since I counted the seasons the pear blossoms covered the laneway to our sweet youth. You always picked the snow white blossoms out of my hair, and I always searched your soul from your dark eyes. Time was a forever concept back then. We were never hurried to grow up while we glued to each other. The Southern biting cold was our excuse to be skin close and breath mingled. I still remember the sweet green apple taste in your mouth.
I haven’t been back for years, probably since the day of your wedding. All I remember was my world came to an end that day. I can’t remember how I managed to sweep up my broken heart and keep going, how I made it to the city, how I started to be a different version of me who is a stranger to me till this day. People say love hurts. Perhaps I didn’t experience the hurt because love died.
The train is coming in eleven minutes. I need to get on this train to make it to grandma’s funeral. For the first eighteen years of my life, grandma was my rock and my shelter. I failed to visit her all these twenty years, and missed the chance to say goodbye. For that, I hate you. I hate your careless decision and it rob me of the ability to keep loving. This hurts. It really hurts. It hurts so much that I have to step out of my own body to avoid the pain.
The clock on the platform is counting down. I see a grown woman sitting alone sobbing. Her face is contorted by grief or pain which I can’t differentiate. She looks so small and helpless. The door opens. I get on the train and sit by the window, keep watching her. Soon she is fading into only a smudge. I wonder what is stopping her to board this train, and why she is so sad.