The Train of Memories and Lost Dreams: A Journey Back to Yourself

Imagine yourself at a small, forgotten station on a cool October evening. The sky is violet, and a gentle breeze carries the distant scent of autumn leaves. On the platform, a few old wooden benches are covered in a thin layer of dust, as if they’ve been waiting for someone to use them for years. And there you stand, holding a suitcase and too many thoughts in your heart, staring at the long tracks that disappear into the distance, like a continuous line between you and an unknown future.

Your train is not just a means of transport—it’s a window to something deeper, a portal that will take you far from the daily routine, away from the things that have held you in place. When you catch your reflection in the station window, you see a face you barely recognize. Do you remember who you were a year ago, two years ago? The journey you’re about to embark on isn’t just a geographical escape; it’s a return to yourself, to the part of you that remains unexplored, like a landscape hidden by thick fog.

The sound of the approaching train becomes clearer. You feel it before you see it—a light vibration under your feet, like a slow, steady heartbeat. The rails seem to murmur, as if whispering to each other about all the stories they’ve carried over the years. The train emerges on the horizon, its lights cutting through the dusk and drawing a fiery line across the violet sky.

When the train stops and the doors open with a metallic sigh, you sit in an old compartment with faded velvet seats. The large window offers a view of the world that begins to rush by, but something strange happens. As the train moves and the fields start to unfold like a silent movie, time seems to slow down. And then, instead of real landscapes, you see fragments of memories projected on the glass.

The first image that appears is from your childhood—a small, old house in the countryside where you and your friends ran in the yard under a bright summer sky. You can hear those innocent laughs in your ears and feel the warmth of the sun from back then, as if that moment is locked forever in a bottle, and you’ve just uncorked it. Then the image dissolves and changes.

A beach on a June day. You’re younger here, maybe on your first solo vacation. A warm breeze caresses your face, and the sound of the waves is like an old song of longing. You see yourself sitting on the sand, staring at the horizon with a mix of fear and excitement for all the things you didn’t yet know about life.

The train carries you further, and you feel as though you’re in the middle of a kaleidoscope of the past, as if the tracks don’t just follow a physical direction but lead you through your own story. You know these moments are part of you, that this train gives you the chance to see them once more, from the perspective of the present—unhurried, without regret.

At some point, instead of memories, dreams begin to appear. Dreams you once had but left on a dusty shelf in your mind. A city you always wanted to visit, a career you dreamed of pursuing, a passion you let fade over time. On the window, these dreams come to life, and you see them clearly, taking shape in the train’s motion—not as illusions, but as possibilities still waiting for you.

The train becomes a liminal space, a place where the past and future meet, and you are in the middle, in the present, free to choose which way to go. You stand at the edge of who you were and who you could become. This journey is more than just a change of scenery. It’s a choice to reconnect with your dreams, with that version of yourself who still believes in possibilities.

As the train slows down and you see the first lights of an unknown station, you feel both relieved and energized. The train has brought you to this moment of clarity, and what you do next is up to you. The doors open, and you step onto the cold platform, but you’re no longer the same. In a way, the train has carried you through a version of yourself you had forgotten.

The landscape around you is new and fresh, and the air is filled with unspoken promises. Though you’ve left the train, your journey is truly just beginning. With the whistle of the departing train fading in the distance, you realize that what you’ve left behind are not just memories, but burdens you no longer have to carry.

The tracks remain there, a long line of possibilities, but now you are free to follow them, to reinvent them, to embrace them without fear.

by

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