I sit here waiting for the train to come. The train that will take me to a better place.
I remember being a little girl and always asking my parents about the train. They would always tell me the same thing, "To ride the train is a task itself, not everyone can ride it, and it only comes at a certain time." I would ask why? And they would simply stare down at me, a young girl of only seven years, and tell me quite simply, "That depends on the person."
My mind rushes back to all my memories; my parents, my children, grandchildren. My moments of glory, of pain, and of momentous events that helped shape who I am today. I hear it, but I can not see it. The long whistle fills my ears and I intake a sharp breath. This is the moment. This is my train.
I look around me slowly, almost lazily and try in vain to remember everything. My husband will be waiting for me, as will my parents.
The light of the train blows away the darkness and I prepare myself, here it is, and it is on time.