freight train

Seasonal.

No announcement.
No ceremony.

Just weight
and forward.

You don’t question the speed
when you’re inside it.

You call it life.
You call it responsibility.
You call it love.

The tracks feel automatic.

Next thing.
Next thing.
Next thing.

There’s a rhythm to urgency.
A low hum
that passes for purpose.

You get used to it.

You stop noticing
how fast the scenery blurs.

And then one day
the path slows.

Not because it broke.
Not because anything failed.

Just because
the cargo shifted.

The quiet after momentum
isn’t peaceful at first.

It’s disorienting.

Your body still leans forward.
Your thoughts still brace.

You check your pulse
like there’s supposed to be
an update.

But the landscape
isn’t rushing past anymore.

There’s space
between crossings.

Room
to look out the window.

Room
to wonder
if you were ever meant
to move that fast.

The engine still hums.

You’re just not sure
what it’s pulling now.

And maybe
that’s the part
you’re still learning
to sit with.