recorded
you find yourself running. the station is the station, and also it is not. the platforms have been renumbered. you have the ticket in your hand, then in your pocket, then again in your hand. it is for a train that left, or that will leave, very shortly. you cannot tell which.
the bag is heavier than a bag should be. the corridor lengthens politely under your feet. an announcement is made; it is in a language you understand without knowing. on the indicator board a number changes, and then changes again, while you look at it. the floor tilts toward the platform. people stand in the way without meaning to. you are not running fast enough.
you see the last carriage, and the small red light at its end, and you understand that you have always seen it, that you saw it in the station, that the never in your chest is a kind of relief. somewhere far ahead, a clock is striking. the platform empties. you are still arriving.
recorded on waking · undated