I took the morning train back west, with winter sleeping on the ground. The little station looked so small, though once it seemed as wide as the world. The wooden bench was still beneath the window where we used to wait. A faded sign hung in the wind, as if it had forgotten the years. I walked the road beside the school, where summer evenings used to fade. The playground fence was leaning now, and ivy covered half the gate. I heard a bicycle somewhere, a distant whistle through the trees. For just a moment I was young, and twenty years had fallen away. I thought I left that place behind, I thought the years had carried me. But every road I travelled on was leading somewhere back to me. I thought I left that place behind, beyond the years, beyond the rain. But some old doors are never closed, and some old songs remain the same. There was a house with yellow walls, where someone waited long ago. I never knew how much I loved the ordinary days we had. A friend whose name I hardly speak still walks beside me when I dream. We promised we would meet again, as young men always promise things. And time had changed the streets and trees, and taken faces from the square. But underneath the passing years I found the child who once lived there. He had no map, he had no plan, he only knew the road was wide. I wanted then to tell him this: “Don't hurry. Let the moments last.” I thought I left that place behind, I thought the years had carried me. But every road I travelled on was leading somewhere back to me. I thought I left that place behind, beyond the years, beyond the rain. But some old doors are never closed, and some old songs remain the same. The evening train was waiting there, its windows glowing in the dark. I stood alone upon the platform, listening to the echoes of years gone by. No one was calling out my name, no one was waiting at the door. And still I felt, for one brief hour, I wasn't leaving anymore. I thought I left that place behind, but now I finally understand: I never really left that place — I carried it wherever I went. I thought I came back home tonight, to find the boy I used to be. But home was never in that town. That place had always lived in me. The morning train will take me on, the road will disappear from sight. But somewhere underneath my years that little station stays alight.
