Difficulty Breathing

The traveller breaks his suitcase open upon the train station bench, and asks himself his name. After all, it's been so long, so alone, would there be any reason why he would really need it? It begins to stir, the first memories that come back are the best ones, but soon he remembers why he forgot in the first place. The disappointments, wasted phone calls(just to hear a voice that mirrored his own), replace the weight on his shoulders with a new one.

He thinks about starting again, but everything that made him special as a young man is probably now just as mediocre as those that have had the age and experience to work for it. Skills, the same ones that meant something to noone more than himself, potential(for embarassment) and a silent dream, are old, worn, rusted, held in the hand of a carer who's moved on to sunnier climbs themselves.

"Moving on whilst standing still is useless to me.." He thinks, looking through photos of friends who lost their spark, for money, for women or for power, but he saw it coming. He supposed that this kind of 'premonition' was why he'd left anyway. Some of us can shy away from watching the car crash, while others get so intrigued they become entrapped in the wreckage themselves.

7:13 and the train comes to a standstill, he doesn't have a ticket but that doesn't matter to him anymore. Every place is the same, different faces with 5 minutes of soul, but that 5 minutes will have to do for now.