Gray beauty

It was 1998, I was at Victoria station, London, inside a phone booth, listening to my then-girlfriend back in the US tell me that she was seeing someone else.  The tightening in my throat, my abdomen.

I walked to the train, sat down in my seat facing London, gray.

The train jerked, slowly pulled away, gathered speed.  Felt a tear, two.  And to this day, I remember what I thought then as London grew smaller and smaller.  I feel sad yes, I feel shitty, yes, but the fact that I feel means I’m alive, and I can feel while watching London fade and I’m alive.  And that, in itself, has beauty.

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