The railway station’s café is closing the last train has gone, a small dark migrant woman in blue overall, is sweeping the floor. I look out of the window and see the terminal, the tracks shine in lamplight as silent rain falls; it signifies, the melancholy of our common betrayal. We always let down someone in our life and live to regret what we can’t undo and make better. I have a suitcase with wheels on, the modern type, everyone uses them now and they are a blessing for a traveler, I wheel the suitcase to the door say goodnight to the sweeper, she looks up, smiles and I remember warmer shores. The last train has long since gone, I have forgotten where I live, and it doesn’t matter, as I fade into the night, to where the sea hums, the lover that made me into flotsam.
