The Trampled Tracks

The train flies past us Nadja, you and I, taunting us with its freedom: it has no home, it has no roots, only a direction and nothing more. The air outside was growing cooler, the breeze was blowing harder, and we were alone, tossed about in a wake of steam and stolen air. 
The train was halfway past now, reaching out beyond our control like a timeline of steel. I wanted to be on it.. to be the blur before my eyes, to be full of life, full of expression, happy. 

In the late afternoon the sunlight began to fall behind the train...and we were alone.

I look to you for reassurance, but you too were lost, captivated by the flitter of light between carts as if its morse code held the secret to life. Your eyes were filled with wonder, like a nomad in a new land. I even caught a faint outline of a smile, as if from some inside joke between you and the train, that which I had no part in.
Turning back, I checked the tracks again as if I'd missed something. Was it the sun? Was it the train?What broke my spirit filled yours.... why were you so damn happy? No one could be that happy in this town. Not me at least. But it all looked the same, cart after cart after cart, slipping past us as the sun ran away behind the horizon. 

At last, with a great surge of air, the iron beast left us, chugging away to better things. 

I didn't understand. I'm not like you, I could never match your surreal swirl of emotion. I am the tracks and you the train. I am the logic. You are art. I turned to you but found nothing, only darkness...

and I was alone.