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It’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep, so I walk to the subway.
The subway is dimly lit, the tracks in front of me blanketed in shadows.
I ceremoniously throw a rose on the track.
The trains don’t come to this section anymore, but I still remember one of them.
I can still see the train to 51st Street pass me by.
It was here I met my love, with her beautiful pale skin and reddish dirty blonde hair.
I remember looking through her narrow brown eyes as they captured my heart.
Her teeth were perfect pearls that complimented her full lips, soft as silk.
I look into the rusted tracks at the rose. It’s a shame all beautiful things wither and die.
I touch my lips and feel hers and suddenly feel my tears drip into my mouth.
We rode the train together every day and would laugh the day away.
Damn, her laughter serenaded me, voice-activating my heart.
I look down the black tunnel and see her face,
this apparition of the living is here to mock me and torture me.
Her mirage smiles at me and I wish there is still a train to jump in front of.
The train appears in front of me as I look back to the tracks.
The door opens and she’s saying goodbye, tears masking her axinite eyes.
“I’m sorry, my love. It’s just not meant to be,” she says to me.
The doors close on the train and its interior lights go out.
I scream as the train disappears into concrete oblivion.
I’m on my knees, pouring the Nile into my palms.
“You can’t comprehend my anguish, my love,” I say.
“Our train arrived and departed too soon.”