Waiting For A Train

Soon this will feel like a distant dream. Until then, may you rest in a deep and dreamless slumber. - Elise, Westworld

Soft as the fabric falls over my skin, I can't help but think this is how it should be - the only way it can be. 

Happiness, true happiness, is easily enough captured when you know where to look. And yet a shadow by my side reminds me, forever, that there is more to happiness than simply being happy. 

I found my happiness in an ocean of tears, and I was content to drown in it. I found joy in a mirage, laughter in silence, love in the shadow of a grave. I slipped, I fell, I closed my eyes and found what felt true.

Hard, cold math comes to my rescue, and I bid it go away. Hie from here, dark fiend, come to burst bubbles and dreams. 

Tilt your head back, slip, slip into the spilled wishes. All the how I wishes, flitting from one pool of sunlight to another. How I, How I, How I wish I could fly. How I wish I'd never hurt again. How I wish they'd stop putting rap into every song just so Honey Singh can stay employed. 

Who decides the screamer's mate? What vile magicks pass under cover of sunlight, what words fall unspoken, only to alight on the most unrealistic of shoulders? Who passes all these golden boys by, only to unearth some terrible toad from under a rock? 

Screamer, screamer, I call for the screamer? She yowls back from her exile, a lone voice in the desert. She's alone, her screaming has driven all the rest of us away. She's insufferable, this modern day Cassandra. She sees true, and no one wants to know. 

The Binary Bird has followed her out into the cold. She tries to reason, tries to mute, tries to get the shrieking to one blessed moment of silence. 'Tis all to no avail, but we leave them there. As long as those two give each other company, the rest of us can move forward in some semblance of normalcy. 

But the cat, somebody whispers. All those cats. 

I whirl, eyes narrow. 

The bus station, comes the whisper. A kiss stolen under cover of night. 

I hiss. Who speaks thus, invisibly?

The rock didn't matter. The toad didn't matter. 

I spread wounded wings, take to the air in fury. 

I will find you.

It's a nice picture. The only picture. Where is it now? Where did it go?

I'm warning you. 

A road he nearly didn't cross...

I snarl, talons lashing out. The mirror smashes.

Are you crying? 

WHISPERER! 

I roar. It makes no difference. 

Have you been crying all night, with no one to hear? Do you need to scream to make yourself heard? 

I know who speaks. Who drips like poison, in my ear. 

And it does no good to fight, for I am lost before I began. 

Who decides the screamer's mate? Who decides a moonlit night and a kiss you didn't particularly want? Who decides a saga founded on detached curiosity? 

Happiness is easily grasped when you know where to look. Shrouded in darkness it awaits a stolen knife. Resigned to the screams, it stands still as death's hand grows closer.    

Do you know, do you know why you can hear the train screaming in the early hours of the night? Do you know, do you know why even though there's no train station near? Do you know, do you know why he won't go home, won't go to sleep, it's almost morning, sunrise is close, so do you know? 

"You're waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope the train will take you, but you can't know for sure. Yet it doesn't matter. Now, tell me why?"

- Dom Cobb, Inception