Death of youth

I used to play amongst the rubble of the old railway station, mortgages, jobs, alien these concepts, like inflation. I swung off broken ladders and read the graffiti, thrown stones as trains rumbled on the still used tracks. Wild youth, alone not running with the pack.

I met my best friend later and told him of the wondrous ruins I had found, he preferred the forest and the fields and we went to play in them, pushing our go cart up down the hills again, again.

Five years later there was a knock on my door, my friends sister cried, tears splashing on the floor. My friend was dead, run over by one of those trains, so I went back to the ruined station again, to find his ghost and ask him to come back …

… But when I got there the station was gone, now stood a second hand car dealer selling over priced crap. My youth now totally erased and done.

D April 2017

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