The Train of My Life

It departed at 8:32pm on 1st October, 1963 from a maternity hospital in a small town in North Albania, stopped at a creche to collect some cries, toys, ink spilt on shirts and trousers, a broken pencil.

Other stops included dull classes with mountains of books, copies, fights, loves, hates, mistakes, first kisses, white dust from the chalk, lost shoes on football pitches.

Then it stopped again at different workplaces where the head was not needed at all, just the arms, because the bosses were the ones who were always right.

This train passed through many strange countries and cities, regretful, unable to enjoy the thrills and luxury that those places held.

During a long stop on a rainy island, everything—feelings, memories, the body— began to rust away beneath an endless rainfall.

The train will move on soon, scheduled to arrive on an uncertain day of an uncertain month during the 21st century, but I hope not soon, at a not yet decided graveyard.