I was waiting for the Love Train. Heard the whistle sounding. The buzz on the tracks. A crackle and hiss. An announcement. This train runs express to Disillusion.
I kept waiting, now more pensive than excited. An engine approached on the opposite track. Men and women who’d recently left the place I wanted to be straggled onto the platform. They said nothing to each other. Their faces were blank.
I waited through the afternoon. The Love Train didn’t come. Every hour or so there’d be a train to somewhere else—the 3:10 to Passing Time, the 4:45 to Dulling. I waited into the black of the night. No stars above.
The lights on my platform dimmed. I was left alone in darkness.
Then a glow reflecting from the tracks caught my eye. A whistle. Attention passengers, the electronic voice crackled, the train arriving at Platform One is the Love Train.
The engine came into view, a single carriage behind it. I climbed on board. A single seat for two. No other passengers to be seen. The conductor approached. ‘Ticket to Love?’ she chirped. I moved aside to let her sit.
It wasn’t what I expected. The train took a sidetrack. Disappeared into the night.
small stories about love 