exhausted wander the paths of the last train. I can not undo the road thinking that perhaps no turning back. The mountains are crowded at the end of the Via Infinito. I kneel between the stones and extend their arms to embrace the ghost train. Not fit if you know where you go. The last train passed and the tracks were as simple as many derailments nostalgic accomplices of many arrivals with a happy ending. Am I looking for my train, I run to grab tightly to the last car of my life.
With blurred vision I guess faces to me, are derailed. Those who never had another chance, which left away their chance to be happy. I'm now with them expecting to see a light that never come. Impotence how much walking the paths of sorrow. Long hours of waiting in slack seasons. You've spent a lifetime lamenting for what you could have done. You've cried so unfair that you think everything just for not wanting to strive to be happy. As much as run only reach others will get derailed, other losers.
The last train goes through the process of our lives when we least expect, when we believe everything can be different, it is best not to risk it and leave things as they are.
We do not know is that on that train are our hopes, our dreams and opportunity to have years with full heart and hands full of affection. Never leave the train doors close. I stood there before him. The starting whistle was deafening, but I was blind. I sat on the bench and looked away, the side of fear, the coward that dare not change. The fear, the terrible knowledge that we always whisper in your ear to wait for something better. I waited years for my train back, but now I can only move on foot by way of solitude with cowardly and selfish figures for fear of not been able to live.
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