Hubbell.

The train rolled into the station. We say our goodbyes, say I'll see you there, say empty words because the big ones do not fit in the small spaces we are afforded. How it seems I am the one leaving when in fact it's your bags that are packed, your horizons that are changing.

I travel between the same end stations, time and again. Always that angst in my gut, always that collection of clothes that are not mine stuffed into an indifferent bag. I see the lives around me evolve, change, move on, while I am busy making the rounds, making hospitality visits, looking at their faces and trying to see my eyes in them. But it only hurts when I do.

This will all end in tears,
you said.

You were right.