I immerse myself in the night that carries memories

I immerse myself in the night that carries memories, with a taste of melancholy, on the platform of a forgotten station, where souls meet only in passing, like shadows dancing to the rhythm of a moving train. And Jesus, with his gentle and sad face, stood there, at the door, contemplating the mysteries of dusk, the windows of a train that knows no destination, only departure. No one was there to see him leave, just a stray moth, struggling with the station lamps, in a final desperate farewell, like an echo of old promises, lost in time. The bell rang, white smoke rose, and a jolt pulled him sideways, into a distance where the blue and white signs screamed "Without God," and the night whispered "Gone." My thoughts mix with the shadows of the night, in a stream of consciousness that knows no rest, seeking answers in the emptiness of the platform, in the silence of the neon light trembling under the moth's attack. Every departure is a separation, an unspoken farewell, an echo of a train disappearing into the night, leaving behind only the memory of a gentle and sad face, and the question of whether we will ever find the answer in the silence of an empty platform.