Waiting at the train station was like a special kind of death. I could feel the last remnants of my childhood slipping away. What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of goodbye.

But that feeling of detatchment never came, and in a way it only made me feel worse. I felt like an amputee who’d lost an arm, but could still feel the ghost of his fingers.

The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. But my thoughts kept looping up on themselves, always returning to the same place. Purgatory.

When he’d asked so long ago, I’d found myself unable to tell him what I felt – words shrink things that seem limitless.

“Don’t be afraid to just get up and leave,” he’d said, sensing a restlessness inside of me. “After all, peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.”

But I was coming to the realization that I didn’t have the courage to just get on the train.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury… look at this tangle of thorns.