Once there was a village located next to a long stretch of train tracks. The village was old, the faces there were stale and bored minds longed for the outside world, to jump on the train and lose themselves in the infinite possibilities that lie somewhere at the end of the tracks. The desire was strong in each of them, choking their hearts and whispering night and day night and day and night; especially at night when sounds were loudest. The whisper went slow at first "I wish I can go away I wish I can go away" and then it slowly picked its pace like a train leaving its station "IwishIcangoawayIwishIcangoawaygoawaygoaway" and the momentum consumed them.

But no one ever got on the train, because as much as they'd like to, they could never leave.

R

You told me to write a letter to you, and I asked you why. You shrugged and looked away and the subject was dropped.

I cannot write a letter to you because there was too much to say and there were too little words. What would you have me write? That I look for excuses to talk to you longer on the phone, or if we were in the car? That I get annoyed if you ask me to rest instead of seeing you because I prefer the latter? That I replay the conversations we've had in my head and smile? That I look for your car whenever we drive past its usual parking space? (Or the fact that I feel sad and a little lonely now that it's vacant?) That I look for you at all?

In my head I did exactly that, I wrote many letters to you.

I kept them in my eyes, I locked them behind pursed lips. But if you listen; you'll find them screaming between skipped heartbeats, in every impulse, as loud as the ocean.