Pieces of me

Railway stations. Bustling with people. You can hear the sound if water falling somewhere, and you can hear the traffic just outside. Conversations, all around, in different languages. A plane passing overhead. Beggars, touching, holding out cupped hands and wearing disdainful expressions. Men ogling. An electric train rushing in, only to pause for a few minutes before rushing out again. A television blaring somewhere. Dirt, along the edges of the track. A wrapper at my feet. A bunch of boys selling pakoras, climbing down the platform and crossing over, to reach the opposite side.

My phone rings.

The train is beautiful. Very clean, and a pleasure to be travelling in. It should never change. It's practically empty. And a wee bit cold.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to understand something. I'm not sure I can be expected to do something, or to be somebody. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. I wonder if I'm only pretending to embrace life.
I've grown up so much. I miss the good old times. I miss the days of seeing that crazy bunch of girls I loved so much everyday. And all my favourite boys. I miss the days of constant exercise and activity. The noise everywhere. The many cups of tea. The experiments. The running in the rain. The laughter, never dying out, never fading, ringing in my head. Them, who I'd meet at an hour's notice, the house I would go back to, sit at the dinner table and share some of the best moments. That unbelievably good food. Being alone and in pleasant surroundings when I feel like it, talking to my sister beyond the boundaries of earthly hours... watching everything pass me by so quickly...

The train is moving fast. I'll be home soon. Facing the reality I ran away from. Meeting, and finally talking to my dog. Talking to everyone at home, and to my friends. Those who I've distanced myself from.
They wait for me, on the other side of my life. Where things that were let go were resurrected in a different form. Where people were different and I had changed. Where I was living an independent life.
I want to be able to collect myself quicker. Keep the essence while, for everybody to see, I live in reality. Where there are people, where there are the sounds of the city, and lights rushing by loudly. My mind is still stuck in a place where there were woods, and us cousins cycling, me trying my first cigarette, and walking wordlessly in the wind. Just walking.
I relive them. Everyday. Feeling my heart behind my ribcage as I do.

I want to give once again, but I am still collecting myself. It won't take too long. There aren't too many pieces of me left to pick up.