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The platform is soft with mud and petals. A train arrives wrapped in mist and the scent of rain. You step on without a ticket, only a heart cracked open like a seed. The windows steam with green anticipation. This is the station of beginning again, where even your shadows grow leaves.
Then the first announcement, soft as breath: Now boarding. All stations to the beginning. 4 stations of the year
The train stops in a field of gold and haze. Time slows to the buzz of a single bee. You get off to stand in the overwhelming light— everyone is here, laughing too loud, skin warm, thirst endless. This station has no clock. The departure board reads: Eventually. You learn to love the waiting. The platform is soft with mud and petals
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