Train operator [DEATH]

There she was.

On her knees.

With her eyes closed.

Lips pursed.

Waiting.

In silence.

And surrender.

I often wonder what it’s like to wait for me, for death.

No.

Not waiting.

What it’s like to strap yourself to the train tracks

and demand death.

I wonder how many times someone dies before they actually die,

how depression becomes a lurking shadow that claws at them,