my diary thing for the poem 'all legendary obstacles' by John Montague.
the only difference between the train journey i was partly going to enjoy, and the one i actually had, was the noise. And the old frail lady, who asked me to help her with knitting. Because the journey itself wasn't dreadful enough. Luckily i did have a window seat. i watched the rain, lightly flow down cold, foggy glass. As the outside strangers walked, hidden under their colourful rain shades. Blinded by the rain they walked slow and cautiously as we all sheltered, and warm, glided along the tracks, watching the poeple struggle with the wind. Every few stops everything would turn real. The reason why i was really dreading this journey. I couldn't keep my composure, couldn't handle the anticipation. I tried to focus on happy thoughts, our stranded memories, his caress, sensual and passionate. i dwelled for a moment before throwing back one large sleeping pill, and preparing my pillow to drift into a preferably 8 hour sleep, free of tacky wool and the sounds of foot-long knitting needles. Beauty sleep says the old lady. the silence breaks my drift into my private dark abyss, tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. i have done enough today to absorb myself in a passionate tomorrow.
the twelve am. sun taunts me. the train felt bouncier than before. And quiet expectidly i was waken with that lovely old woman, smiling under her wrinkled face, the sun giving her pale skin a shimmer and glistening her silver curls. my mouth felt stale, and my hair was in need of my serious shampoo. it was glorious how little i genuinly cared. sitting here, eleven hours away from my charming man.
An entire day non the less. I tried to be optamistic, i have had enough of this journey. Time, why must you go so slow? Why must now, the one time i ever ask for a fast forward, you give me a slow motion? One hour passes, two hours pass. three hours pass, four hours pass. How i'm amused by our world.
Spending hours on end, watching, the strangers,the animals, the rocks, the trees, the buldings. I find myself overly-fascinated in the progress of man. Scenery, snow topped mountains, fields of sunflowers , the old buldings, neglected by our youth. Turbulance is the end product of all thoughts. My fantasies grow wild from my dreams. His brown eyes are my blue skies . They light up the worlds that the birds fly over. Breathing in the deepest part of this air. Better not to imagine. I read a chapter of my James Joyce, Ulysses, Before i knew it, eleven o'clock. One hour more of this dreadful tension, await this foresight, future. It is beyond my control. This will be the longest hour of my existence. How can i keep this nonchalant feeling, secretly my mind like a jungle lion, tearing through my thoughts.
The full moon teases, It's not yet time. Why is the darkest now, but the time is not, for a peaceful night,, i mustn't struggle with myself. I try to keep still, watching the moon, getting brighter as the sky darkens. It merely takes minutes. The mockery of the stars, swinging across the night sky. This obstacle, one last stretch. Distance by far is the worst wait. To some, a to b being 200 miles and taking two and a half hours. Maybe its just me but thats too long. Distance, i hope in my future, the mathematics, as will by sure fix the motions of our time cannot handle the wait, the obstacles. If its this hard for me, imagine the cavemen. 200 miles is a dream a fantasy, a no-way-never. Here i am thinking maths and numbers will pass the time.
I pick up my James Joyce. Struggling through the first word on the page. Reading it slowly, repeatedly, unable to remember what i've just read. This train is like my thoughts. Rough, get swift all at once. A cart came around for snack and food. I had been so into my own awaiting, i forgotten to have my last two meals. Here we are, roughly 20 minutes to my stop, home. Here i come, i see the familiar trees, and buildings. this makes me smile, even in the dark, i know my town. The windows are overly-foggy, for this winter rain.
I am most definitely the first one off the train. I say farewell to my journey friend and... we stop, and the doors open. The smoke clears slightly, leaving the cold fog, the only thing in my way. The porter stands waiting as i practically slow motional step down the small narrow stairs onto the platform. I see many dark shadows. The fog blinds me almost. One figure stands still, whilst the shadows move up and down the platform. Mine stands unmoving with emotion. I sense, i was not the only one anticipation my arrival. Without words, i walk closer, until i can see him, his face under the midnight moon, dark, light, speechless. Our chilled hands meet, i feel my journey- friends eyes on us, through the window, watching us. We shadow ourselves in the darkness, his gaze, locked. We kiss imperceptibly.
