[ WP ] Make me fall in love with a train .

1st December, 1962. 
 
 I am stuck on a train out of Kent bound for the West-coast. Snow has damned the tracks for miles. 
 I am sat with 30 others, coddled under a solitary blanket, warming myself with memories. 
 The snow is setting on the window outside of my compartment. 
 
 
 
 Of all the days for this storm to pick-up. 
 
 I will be seeing Eliza tomorrow, I am sure of it. The conductor has told me we will be moving come morning, whenever that may be. Outside of my window, I can see white settling upon itself; I can not tell where the window ends and the abyss begins. How can one tell the time when the sun does not shine? That feint thing, hiding from my view. I am assured it is late-noon, but it does not feel so. I am suspended, Eliza. For only had you been here. My fantasies of you play upon my heart. That we should share this compartment and laugh. You will calm me, and together we would recline into each other. Such thoughts warm my blood, but little good for my extremities, for the most distant parts of myself have lost sensation. 
 
 The conductor has told me we have been stranded for 9 hours. Of what little sleep I have had, I can take no more. The dreams, Eliza, the dreams. I do not know what it is called when your fondest memories sharpen themselves like knives and gullet your innards, but such a description I think comes close. When does a nightmare become a nightmare? I taunt myself Eliza, but I do not panic. My vision is choked by clouds and pale colours of glass; so large and fluid, no beginning, no end. A nightmare within a dream, is it not? For I nearly screamed when I awoke from my sleep. That you were here. By my side as I lay asleep. And off, off into this hellish infernal you float that traps me so. I do not stir, but I know you are gone and I die. I am found fifty-years later, frozen and still alive. I am looking at me. Older. Grey hair and skin so white, a head that can not move but eyes that will not lie. And I pick apart my skin and bones until nothing is left. 
 
 But Eliza, I will be with you. I will not sleep again until I have seen you. If this weather does not die, I will march along until my body has dissolved and I am nothing but a crystal ash. 
 I will not skin myself with knives grown from my own nails. 
 I will not lose you Eliza. 
 Not again.
