I’ve been thinking about you again.

When I think of how I feel about us, I imagine a railway line between the city and you.
I think of every landscape, every newsagent, every town along the way.
Really, there isn’t much distance between us but when you take in all that exists between the city and you,
I’m overwhelmed by all that I’d have to clamber over just to attempt to meet you.

And if I do get there, what do we gain?
What can I give you, what can I take away?
Who even are we now?

The miles between us have barely changed
But our bodies have, our minds have
We’ve expanded, reduced ourselves, put ourselves out of shape in order to fit in

But never with each other.

I listen to “our” bands as I walk through “our” buildings and I wonder
Do I miss you or your memory?
Will the scent of the fields around you invoke relief or nostalgia for me?
If I held you would I finally feel complete again or would you be embracing a tender bruise?

Which one do I want?

I still miss you but I’m leaving the railway line, I miss shores and hills.
I miss who I was before the hurt.
Railways are almost mythical in their presence and now, many years later, that’s how I feel about us.
Losing you and missing you is present no matter where I am.
The closest stop to reliving heartache is never too far away.
I won’t pretend I’m not tempted to step off again.

But there are other places I’d like to dip my toes into.
Muddy forests, lakes, city gutters.

Between the city and you,
my last train is approaching.