Dedicated to Taylor Swift, chocolate, Alemannia Aachen, French (the language), Barcelona (the city), Spain, the couch, and bananas. 

                As I boarded the train for my next destination, I took each step with the unmistakable feeling that I was leaving too soon. It seemed that time, an increasingly rare commodity these days, had played its cruel trick on me. We had stopped at this station for a length of stay that seemed plenty when we rode in, but now far too little.

                When I arrived here, not too long ago, it felt shrouded in uncertainty. That’s how every stop feels at first. But I soon discovered it was just an ordinary station I had found myself in, an ordinary building. It would not be the destination that was special, no, it was the beautiful strangers waiting there for me.

                These strangers had all come on their own trains, which, either by fate or free will (at this point I am uncertain), decided to halt in this time and place. Each of these strangers was uniquely unique, having been shaped by their previous stops. The stations we each got off at before this encounter were totally different from one another’s, and would be totally different after. There was a risk, then, if I took it upon myself to meet these strangers, that they would take a little piece of my soul before vanishing from my journey to continue theirs. In this mundane train station, with what seemed like plenty of time, I decided to take that risk. 

                After more than a bit, but less than a while, I found that these strangers had become my good friends. Before I knew it, I was no longer passing time at this station, waiting to get on to my next destination. I was enjoying it. Though the sun was mostly hidden, and it was often cloudy, it never seemed to bother me. Sure, there were plenty of rainy days (and a few storms) to go around, but they only made those rare sunny days shine even brighter. We spent our days together now, making the most of our limited time, determined to look back in the end and say we had made the most of it. 

                When you know your time is limited, you can either choose to obsess over this fact or choose to ignore it, and simply enjoy the time you have left. We chose the latter. For better or worse, we enjoyed those last days in pure bliss, without having to worry about the future. After all, why worry about the future, when the present is so present?

                Eventually, after the set period of time had elapsed in seemingly a fraction of the scheduled time, it was time to bid each other farewell. This group of friends had become truly special. As their trains came in one by one to take them off to their next destination, I surprisingly felt okay about their individual departures. I felt certain that, even though we were all going our separate ways at the moment, there would be a point in the future where we would find ourselves on another ordinary train platform, sharing our time together again. How much time this would take, and how many stops there would be in-between, is uncertain, but with friends like these it felt bound to happen. 

                Down the line, as time does what it does best – eroding the strongest passions into a feeble nub, like Shelley’s Ozymandias – you find that close friendships fade, that the dreams of meeting up again at a future station dissipate. Dreams are often a brittle thing, conjured up one moment to offer some sort of temporary comfort, and shattering the next moment like glass. When this happens, you may feel like a fool for ever believing in them. For some of the dreams I had before leaving, of seeing everyone I met later, that’s how I felt when they shattered just a few stops later. Yet for some of the friends I made, I refuse to lose hope in our meeting again. I know for certain, somewhere down the tracks, we will sit down and take the time to share a laugh and a drink together; it will be just like old times. I think I prefer taking the risk of dreaming then, as after all, I would rather be a fool than a pragmatist.

                During one particular friend’s goodbye, there was no room to hope. As I waited with them for their train, I knew for a fact that this would be the last time I saw them. In situations like these, we attempt to create the picture-perfect goodbye. We believe that if we just end on the perfect note, we can happily move on. Yet, no matter how hard you try, there is no such thing as a perfect goodbye. So, as my friend’s train left the station, bound in the opposite direction of my own, I was left standing on the platform, a mess of emotions, alone and unsatisfied. This is where I found myself wishing for more time. Wishing I had the time to say all the things left unsaid and do all the things left undone. Wishing for just one more moment. Yet, I think to myself: if I had another day, would I say all those important words? Would I do all those essential things? Or would I leave it for the next day, until I was alone on that platform again?

                Now, as my train departs the platform, I wave goodbye to a few friends whose stay was not quite over yet. I’m headed to my next destination. It seems that, just as I had feared, these strangers had taken a piece of my soul. Through all the laughs and tears, they taught me who I was and who I wanted to be. They made me a better person, and for that, I can’t thank them enough. 

                I once thought that at the final stop, we would find that our time spent on these trains was meaningless. Now, I am certain that it has something to do with these beautiful strangers. So, as I hurtle to my next direction, I no longer wonder where I am headed. Instead, I wonder who I am going to meet next.