Morning reflected my face in the train’s windowpane. Beyond the glass, a woman knelt beside a bird in the rain. She held it in both hands, as if warmth could keep it there. Then the doors closed between us, and the station disappeared. The bargain comes quietly, without flame, without sign: Give me everything that hurts you. I’ll leave the rest behind. But the wound and what I love share a border I cannot find. So I hold the page before me. I leave the page unsigned. At the next stop, through the window, a screen showed another war. People walked beneath those images, trying not to look anymore. Near the closed bakery, a boy split a loaf of bread in half. He placed one half beside a homeless man and disappeared. If I knew the final answer, would it teach me how to live? If the wound were taken from me, what else would disappear? Grace is not salvation. Hope gives no answer. Just pause for a moment as the whole world passes by. The bargain came quietly, without flame, without sign: Give me everything that hurts you. I’ll leave the rest behind. But the wound and what I love share a border I cannot find. I folded the paper and left it unsigned.
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