Sunday, 7 February 2010
And the chill makes it around two degrees, and the lack of sleep makes every step an effort. An attendant peals back the cage, and white-light from under the street level floods through the stairwell. And by the ticket machine I glance in to an office, but your not there. And I'm on the complete opposite side of the city. Victoria, South-bound, is dead, and delayed by two minutes. And eventually one station becomes another, and then nothing more than a vast flood lit hall. The steps on which we first met, empty, and the windows behind, towering shadows. And platform seventeen, and that moment three years ago, seem so distant that they become almost irrelevant. But because of this I'm reminded of you. And I'm no longer sure what exactly it is I'm reminded of.