I know the truth to be other. I haven't. I can't find comfort in giving up. What good would that do? Then truly everything would be lost, right now it's just me.
And things can change, I still believe that.
It's only that I am tired of waiting. I have been waiting on a station, for so long I barely remember. It may not be that long... but yet, time has lost meaning somehow.
Before, when my arrival to the station was recent, I was filled with excitement every other second, knowing, being sure that anytime, every single second was an opportunity for the train that would come pick me up.
Where would it lead? I didn't know but I did knew. It would be somewhere new, different and exciting. It would lead to a better tomorrow... it felt like waiting for a space shuttle about to take off to the stars.
Can you imagine how much energy was spent? Every other second, without giving up on hopes, for days, weeks, months. Right now it has been, at least, a year.
There is no one around. People come into the station, into the platform with me but maybe five or six have actually set eyes on me. They come, they wait and even though there has been no train, they leave and not alone. And all this, I know, for I have been watching them.
It was impossible for me to stand still, 'minding the gap'. I did it anyways, for about six months. Then, I began noticing people.
And some people began noticing me.
Girls, boys about my age, younger, older walked in. They traveled in every possible way: alone, in pairs, groups, and in couples.
I have seen people grow together and grow apart. I have seen families breaking and getting back. I even dare say I have met friends, family and people who became special; yet, I am not satisfied.
After the the first nine months or ten, my knees were weak. They began rusting so I backed off and sat on an empty chair, noticing that sometimes, the platform would be alone, if not for me. Yes, not one single soul besides me.
It began getting chilly by then but my company were the sounds that came from the outside.
Every now and then, I would hear whistles and the sweet sound of a flute, people chatting and shouting and laughing and then silence would eat the sound away and then everything was calm, again.
I soon got tired of sitting, by when I knew every hole and mark on the wall, when I knew at what time it would began getting cold, when I knew the time of the sweet melodies and noise.
Day by day it was getting colder, I don't remember the difference between my hopes getting cold or my sould, I just knew I had to move.
It was the biggest train station ever, I discovered later the same month, because I could walk different ways and still get lost and found sometime later. The bright, white brick walls became blue and yellow and colorful. My friends would come in somedays and walk around with me, talk and chit-chat about their lives but then, walking around, I met someone.
A young men with soft and deep honey eyes. He had such a beautiful smile.
In time, we grew closer for he showed interest in me. Slowly, I began de-rusting and rusting again. Old layers of rust fell down as new ones came by.
And he had became as constant as my rust.
And as I have told him and the friends who come around and stay around and to my family. I will not give up. Yes, I am desesperatedly tired of waiting, it feels useless somedays but that energy did not dissapear. It's hiding, sleeping.
So rise and shine, and try again for good things come to those who know how to wait.
