the cold, green bench knows her well
fourth car from the back, second row
the paint is scraped off from the soles of her shoes
she sits with a blank notebook open on her lap
the countryside whizzes past with no destination in mind
"you again," says the ticket collector as he passes, smirking
with a closed-mouth smile, she gives him the coins
she doesn't care what he might think of the girl who rides the train to nowhere, anywhere
she doesn't mind that she sees the conductor more than her own mother
she can't bear to face her mother, after all
how could she face a woman who doesn't remember her name
they say it's disease, but she always felt like she'd be forgotten eventually
the man across from her looks like her husband
ex-husband, she reminds herself
how could she stay married to a man who cared more about the playing cards than her
she bites her bottom lip and avoids the passenger's gaze
she leans her temple on the window pane
her head bumps along to the motion of the engine
she doesn't mind the slight pain
the countryside whizzes past and after minutes all she can see is a blur
and she thinks "this is how my life has gone"
a constant blur, without any real moments that she could point to and remember
all just colors and noises and thoughts blurred together, nothing worth remembering
nothing worth going home to
home should be where she feels content, and it sure as hell isn't her canopy bed with the duvet pulled down on only one side
maybe home is the cold, green bench
home is the 102 train to nowhere, anywhere