13 Jan be here with me on this train car seat for just three hours by Sophie Ye
The woman two seats down with her slim cigarette is laughing into her phone, somewhere a phonograph plays a twinkly tune—How’d that get in here?—and the train, which is a living machine, thunders north. It’ll take us to where we need to go. Right now, we are nowhere at all.
I have a lot to tell you. (But first you break your scone into pieces, buttering each one before popping it into your mouth.) Here’s something: the idea of peace rips me apart. I ask you: Can you imagine walking and having an identity, or knowing desire, or being truly okay with the fact that nothing ever stays the same? and—Where are we going, again?—I tell you: Recently I feel removed from myself.
So yes, I’m in poor health, but it could be worse. I could be inconsolable. I could not see the green-gray fields on those perfect off-kilter mornings but I do.
But anyway, tell me what you see when you look out the windows. Even as the world is rushing by, describe it to me as though we’re the only people walking through it, taking our time. Red upholstery with gold trim, the maple wood table between us and the faint smell of coffee beans, the stained carpet beneath our feet.
I like watching you lift your teacup to your mouth, sipping, looking at the trees. You pose a simple question. Did I get that right? I don’t even need to try to love you.