If there is a God, I cant help but feel I am being told something.
On a train traveling to my dads house, two young boys, a toddler and another not much older, were running across a station parking lot towards its train platform. Their mom not far behind. They wore blue t-shirts and khaki shorts. Funny for March, though sunny and really nice. She had on a white t-shirt and mommy-like leggings. It was as if — though my train was not stopping there, speeding along the center track — they were all striding across the parking lot to greet someone they loved. A nice moment I felt pleased to have caught on the mundanely mute train I sat on. Until two days later, and this time, not a soon before noon train but and an early evening. And this time, I was less worried. Nearly engrossed in a new playlist, melodic love letters to my heart, the vibrating hum pulsing though everything boarded on the train. And while in this stark bliss, I happened to glance out the window to be looking at the same parking lot and to see the same two boys and mother, wearing the same clothing, walking and running, smiling and laughing. The same formation, but in the direction the were coming from last time. As if to go back to the car. There was no other loved one.
I try to avoid to feel ice run though every single fiber inside of me,
unless I’m terrified yet sure.
What just happened?