The mist on the glass blurred his reflection with each breath, letting him see again, after a few seconds, a face he no longer recognized as his. Again, the train was too small for his thoughts and projected them on the landscape that was accompanying him back home.
All return trips are like a movie that takes place in silence, with the warmth of memory and a gaze lost in a very lucid past that repeats itself continuously, savoring every detail, spelling each word in search of all the variants that may alter its meaning and cause an unexpected ending.
But this occasion was different, reality was unalterable and unappealable to his mental delusions and he decided to abide by the sentence dictated by the circumstances and assume his share of responsibility in the course of events.
Was it the choice of place, the distance between them, perhaps the choice of words or the way they left his lips? They say that the past is invariable, but what about the future? Is it possible to anticipate a situation, predict all the variables and influence its development?
Meanwhile, it is dark and although the past continues to be represented in the darkness behind the window, he is no longer capable of giving voice to the conversation, nor body to his emotions, nor color to his cheeks.
Just remember that one day before embarking on that trip, he thought that when he returned on the train, his head would be spinning at what had already happened, but had not yet happened then.
‘When you sail across the ocean waters, and you reach the other side safely, could you smile a little smile for me? ’cause I’ll be thinkin’ about you… ‘
