THE TRAIN STATION

The curtain of night falls on the world and I stand still in the dark station. All the trains have gone somewhere long ago and yet I’m still standing here. The time will come and I will also have to say goodbye and go my own way. Just a small moment ago there was a crowd of people getting on and off, some hurrying to the right and others to the left. But now, there’s nobody here. I stand here alone. My eyes wander over the weathered walls and watch the shadows that flicker here and there. Only silent memories shine on the departures and arrivals board.
A strange silence fell in the middle of the station. It’s all around me while I watch motionless as it absorbs everything in its reach, including me. The moment it almost touched my soul with its icy finger, a note danced straight over to me from somewhere, and another, and behind it a third, and another, and another, until they formed a whole crowd. They bounce around to me, just like those on a sheet of music, up and down. The silence seemed frightened and hid behind the corner, from where it could watch the dance of those tiny visitors, whom no one would have expected, without being noticed.
I raised my head and looked in the direction where the strange melody was coming from. I tried to find the place with my eyes. But what is hidden from the eyes is usually hidden deep in the soul. So I closed them and let myself be carried by the flow of notes, and the closer I got, the bigger the river got. When I was looking around again, I saw what I had been looking for so much at first. There in the farthest corner, a piano stood. The best years were long behind it already. It was old and a few light threads showed through on the side as it had been scuffed.
I just stood there for a while, watching it from afar, wondering how it got here and what it was doing here. Shabby and abandoned. As if somebody put it here a long time ago and no one remembers who and when. It stood sadly by the wall and awaited its fate. But what was its fate?
Once, when it was still a short time in this world, it had a golden brown color. And when the sun’s rays passed over it, began to sassy tickle and shimmer on everybody who was close to it. It wanted to play, cheerful and restlessly one note over another. Rashly plays those a few melodies, what it knew. Again and again and again, and how eager it was to learn still new and new, and with another breath it played more and more. Now it stands here alone in the darkened station, sad and tender. Who played on it probably, who laid their fingers on it. He sat with him for long hours.
I’m still standing in the middle of that abandoned train station but doesn’t sound the strange tones here anymore. Silence spread all around again. It slipped into every nook and cranny. Suddenly it was everywhere.

And in the silent train station, a sad pianist played an otherwise cheerful piano.

(01.05.2023)