And we will dance together, just you and I, to the rhythm of a night that will cradle our wishes forever.
Don't you hear the trains rumbling, far away? They're carrying all our dreams, dreams we don't even know we have—running away with them, and hanging them among the stars.
To this I sing my ode: which dream ever ends? Because long as it's never granted, it lives forever, immortal like the petals of the lotus-that-never-blooms. The finale is at the double bar-lines, when your dreams have all come real and the da capo has faded and the cadence is perfect. But till then, will you first see how the music sparkles through its bars, like starlight between your fingers as you raise them to the night?
Like a star is this dream of yours—it will never shine brightest, until the moment it dies.
And I know I can sing forever, gazing on as those crystal lights swing upon the boughs of the fir tree at the window. Her bark is sweet and strong, but she a tree of the snowfields above; how can it be that she's never tasted the snow before? Lost in a land that isn't hers; why is she standing here, so hopeful and so certain, so glad to spread her branches to a sky that will never give the snow she dreams of? Does she know her way home to the north, as her branches sway in the brilliant lights of a passing train?
Does she know where north is, for that matter?
You said once that phoenixes don't fade; they only fall out of sight, then rise again in a place we don't expect. I think you've made me realise that my sorrows are phoenixes; I shed the tears and think they're gone, extinguished forever, but then in the strangest times, they rise again from the ashes I left them to be.
It hurts me, yes—but you've also taught me to see that my sorrows are just as beautiful as phoenixes are.
I lock these million wishes, thus, into the treasure chest of velvet night. Here, now, in this special time when dreams and reality kiss each other in a circle of dancing shadow, in this time when the stars aren't afraid to speak to the sun, I lay down my spirit with a smile, and hope for a tomorrow that will continue to shine this way too.
Tracks were never meant to run parallel eternally. They were drawn that way for a reason—they lead to different lands, different worlds, both of which must equally be reached. But who ever said they never converge again?
There's a grand station in wondrous Paris far ahead; we'll see if we're not there in two decades' time.
Till then we have only this dwindling night left—this night by the station, by a circular road, when all secrets must be laid bare and all answers be given. They're all here in this box, this box which I press into your palms now and wrap with a whisper of farewell.
Listen—do you hear your future arriving? It thunders in the tracks, a mechanical song, different from mine and different from his and different from hers. But then again, aren't they all are part of the very same vast symphony?
And so we will dance together, just you and I—dance to the rhythm of trains in the night. Because for all the world that's left to be seen, this is where all the journeys begin: here, at this lonely station at the start of the line, where the passengers wait huddled in their jackets for the first train to arrive.
