Sunlight spills through the train window, warming my face as I watch the world pass by. I allow myself to enjoy the scenery, the streets, the houses, as though I am on a hop-on bus, drifting through a living postcard. At the train station, I grab a Pretzel sandwich, a bottle of watermelon juice, and set out to see my favourite castle.
It is dead quiet here. Two minutes into the hill climb and I am already taking off my jacket, tying it around my waist. The breeze is cold but the sweat makes up for it.
I’m here. I put my jacket back on, zip it all the way up, and bury my hands in my pockets. I have seen this place countless times, simply because I can and because I want to.
It is always beautiful up here. In your own words, “breathtakingly splendid.” It still is, Liebe, even more so in the daylight. I don’t need to close my eyes to remember how we met right here. I can still hear your voice as you tapped my shoulder, asking if I spoke English in your terrible German accent. I don’t miss a single line from that humorous conversation that night. I still remember your cologne, the shrill in your voice. I conjure every memory I have of you. The only thing I cannot do is summon you back into my life.
I stare at the city until it blurs into nothingness. That’s when I know it’s time to leave.
Climbing is not as hard as descending. I always get upset by the physics of it. I make it out and away from the castle. At the train station, I find a seat and munch on my sandwich. A strange-looking man approaches me, asking for a euro for food. I know it’s a lie, but I still want to give. I have no cash on me, so I hand him my juice instead. He stammers a few “Dankes” and walks away. I watch as he approaches an old woman on the next platform just as my train arrives. As we pull away, I see him reaching out to collect whatever she offers.
It’s still sunny but cold. I watch the trees, the windmills, the meadows, and the flowers blur past. The world is such a beautiful place, so why do I have to be so sad in it? It feels almost as if the sun is staring at me, activating all the hurt I have been refusing to cry out.
I beg my insides to wait until I can jump into my bed and scream into my pillow. But the tears escape anyway, sliding down my cheeks and onto my chest. I try to fight them, but the sun is so gentle, still staring into my face with its warmth, as if whispering:
“Let it flow… let it go.”
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