His life had long since fallen by the wayside and this was the train trip that brought it all back, sometimes good but more often than not bad, a terribly sad occurence
Mesmerising memories of all that had come and gone before him, as soon as he strapped himself in he would begin to recall it all over again
As I say, sublime times as well as the painstakingly harsh, an early morning sun on this particular occasion adding to the tiny bits of splendour, if only ever in parts, a flow akin to a train-wreck of which we daren’t speak
It happened whenever he came here, had to sit down and watch his life unfold, a sorrowful story getting told, something of an art show all of its own right there on reel, no-one would ever be able to steal it away, as much as he might like them to, pleaded with them to rub away, erase and re-print the agonising font
Always left wanting, having already seen things that no-one deserved to see
As he passed a lonesome and bewildering tree he saw those untimely claws come at him once more, through the train window, a crumbling side door, time and time again, how his entirely addled mind was left with no-one to blame but himself, couldn’t find a way however hard it might try
The way
Rosary beads in hand, all he could do was pray