Поезда

Sometimes it seems that time can be deceived. Just stand on the platform and believe that the same train will return one day. That outside the windows there will be no fog, but eyes in which home is hidden. The world around has long since become a network of routes and random faces, but inside, the old wheels are still rumbling - memory goes round and round like trains with no final destination.

In this state, there is neither tragedy nor hope - only quiet stubbornness. It is as if someone has turned off the sound, but the heart continues to beat to the rhythm of expectation. And even if thoughts make your head ring, even if words burst into the air like live wires - it doesn't matter: waiting is easier than stopping.