In An Empty Station, Waiting

When a person touches your life, you’ll dread for the day when that person decides to let go. What’s more painful when he leaves is that even though he has already let go, the touch will still be there, still tangible. Somehow, it will still be as if he has never left. His touch will linger for God knows how long. Maybe that’s the part we’re afraid of when we think of someone leaving us. It’s the aftermath.

Let us quote a line from Pablo Neruda’s poem: “Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because – because – I don’t know how to say it: a day is long…”  The way he’s written it, the way he wrote it was as if he was perplexed. Confused, for he was not sure of the reason why he didn’t want the person to leave. All he said was, “…a day is long…

A day can only pass by so quickly. But if without that person you’re so used to being around, living through those twenty-four hours will be a drag. Despite the uncertainty of a return, you’ll have this thin thread of hope, though, to cling on to.

I will be waiting, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.” You would put up with time and the wariness in waiting. You would shake off the apprehensive feeling that they may not be coming back. You’ll persist in waiting, just waiting, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. May it be even on times when you least expect a knock on the door, you will always still be anticipating a familiar footstep, a nostalgic voice calling out your name, telling you they’re home. You would find your ear pressed up against the nearest wall or seam, waiting for the knock, the voice, the footstep. And the seasons will not matter. You will still let yourself be the last one standing, waiting in the middle of an empty station, where people stopped waiting, for the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

I honestly believe that attachment instills paranoia. At moments when you’re all cuddled up with your lover, those are the kind of moments wherein you’re most likely to feel scared because that is when you realize that this sole individual has taken up a big part of your entire life and that when he leaves you, he’ll take that ‘big part’ with him, leaving you with less. Nobody wants that. Yet, this is a common risk we all have to deal with when we let people in our lives.

Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together.” Even in the shortest minutes that he looks at you with tired and empty eyes, you get uncomfortable. From even the smallest moments of being ignored, you feel that a drastic change has occurred and that it’s about to ruin the good relationship that you have. Feelings flutter away that quickly, in the shortest span of time, and that is a general truth.

You can gain so many in so much time but also lose so much in such little time. And probably that’s a principle in life that we could never defy.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.” Though you know that your loved ones aren’t sandcastles by the shores, or a paper airplane flying, you believe that they could easily get washed up by the shore or get flown away by the wind. And you’re right. They most definitely can because losing people is that easy.

Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you’ll have gone so far. I’ll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

I once had a dream of attending a funeral of a significant person in my life. That person, in real life, was actually someone who has liked me since the first grade. In that dream, I was told [by a random stranger from my reverie] that that significant person died of waiting.

Seems like it was some sort of a waking call. Waiting is torture. The sad truth is that there’s actually nothing solid to hold on to because we can only get to hold on to these mere words since they are ironically more real than material things. Everything is uncertain. Yet, you still wait for that person, in the middle of an empty station where the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Will they come back? Will they not leave you waiting, dying? This question will nag in the back of your minds, attempting to shatter your patience, your hope. You push this one off not because it’s futile but because you don’t know the answer. The paranoia that the attachment has instilled drifts into you, choking your heart.

So you live your life by a poem Pablo Neruda wrote. Rereading every line for the entirety of the piece summarizes your agony in waiting, with the dread of having already been forsaken in the long run.


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