The End of The Line

The end of the line is a nice place.

It sits unassumingly on a pleasant little hill that overlooks the horizon, the end of the railroad resting there.

Many people go there.

I’ve visited it quite a few times.

It really is nice.

Everyone goes there at some point or another in their life.

No one needs to tell anyone.

If you can’t find the individual at home, they are most probably there.

It’s nice to go there at sunset.

The orange and pink light spills all over the hills, casting a warm, ethereal glow all over the secluded haven.

I like that term.

Secluded haven.

It’s nice.

The end of the line.

Abandoned railroad tracks that extend over the hill, beneath it nothing but a large drop, over air and sky.  

The moss grows over the rusted tracks, a slurry of green and brown.

The grass, in and of itself, is the most vibrant grass in the entire world.

It’s blindingly bright.

It’s beautiful.

The Drop.

The railroad tracks are built over the air, no land underneath them.

No one understands how it works.

It just is.

Some say magic holds it up.

Some say it is fueled by the despair of the hopeless who venture there.

I think it’s both.

Those who go there never leave.

The beauty is far too majestic to part from.

These are the thoughts that enter my head as I hop off the last train to The End of The Line at 7 PM, waiting for the sunset.

I arrive, the train car rattling backwards as it always does when it comes here.

I take in the sights of the little abode that seems so removed from everything, and yet, connects everyone all the same.

It’s like a floating island; nothing but air.

I walk to the end of the railroad tracks, standing a few feet back just to be safe. 

I sit down on the vibrant, shining grass as the sun welcomes me.

I like to be alone here.

It’s easier when there’s no one else around.

The sun sets, watching over me as it feels like this one last time, it’s a private setting just for me.

The oranges and yellows blend together in fading hues, the crisp pink outlines bordering them, all dwindling down as the navy blue sky starts to appear.

I want to do what I came here for before the sun fully leaves, so, with a good amount of light left to spare, I walk closer to the edge of the hill.

The tracks continue on just a little further, the sun enticing me to follow it to wherever it strays.

And so I walk, on the invisible tracks of my mind, hovering above air, when everything drops.