Life is a series of Hellos and Goodbyes

And sometimes its how you said Hello that determines the gravity and weight of all that will transpire from that point on. With the single action and its determined nature, you shape the possibility and expectations pinned upon the relationship.

Does One say it first? Or is it a furtive mutuality? I recall the beauty of the spontaneous neutral moment.

But as life goes, everything went pear-shaped. With the inability to control our speech to one another in between, the Hello crushed heavy on our minds and instead started breeding doubts.

I regret, as all finite sentient beings do, that the Goodbye was rushed. It was hurried. It was loud and did not want to hear anything other than its own echo. Like the sound of a train exiting the station and its last exhaust shout, it was hurrying to leave. The path had been charted, the coal was in the furnace and no matter where it went, I knew that it would have no Me there.

So I sat, the platform emptied. My luggage still in my hands. And of course, the ticket stub too. Strangely, I had this article of faith torn and inspected. By whom? I never do know. And so I wait, like the stupid ghosts of lost villagers awaiting a return trip to their village of the "yester-years".

The air is cold, it hollows me out. I lay like Buddha but sink like Machiavelli. I cry like a child but curse like an adult. I am torn.

The train is in the berth again! But the doors are shut. I bang on the doors. The cat businessmen inside look at me and scratch their noses. They wonder what the fuss is. The train has been repainted. The smell of the new paint sickens me and I smudge it with my rabid fists. I am disturbed by its presence on my skin and they say paint leaks into one's soul. One's essence. I guess my heart is now green and red.

The train chucks out slowly. It never did open. But the fat balding conductor tells me that it may be back. He has bad teeth. I try hard not to smell the stench emanating from his bile.

So it may be back. Now the Goodbye may sound its antithesis, a Hello. It may never. The platform stretches on. I hope to be able to inject more into this narrative. Hold my tentative hollow pause. Hold it.

May. Is my sister's name too. I never knew she held such power.