{"id":58,"date":"2004-01-02T18:32:56","date_gmt":"2004-01-02T17:32:56","guid":{"rendered":"\/?p=58"},"modified":"2004-01-02T18:32:56","modified_gmt":"2004-01-02T17:32:56","slug":"but-was-it-a-train","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/2004\/01\/02\/but-was-it-a-train\/","title":{"rendered":"but was it a train ?"},"content":{"rendered":"

– i feel like i’ve missed a train, somewhere, i said.
\nbut was it a train ?<\/em>
\nyou rearranged gently my scarf around my neck, then looked straight into my eyes, with that inherent sadness that i can’t learn to decipher.
\nsay something.<\/em><\/p>\n

we walked slowly, hands in our pockets because we’d forgotten our gloves. the evening was cold as usual, and i wished i’d take you to the house where we could build a fire, and stay silent in each other’s warmth.
\nthat’s what i said, then.
\nyou laughed quietly, looking at your shoes, just like you were playing some illogical and eternal game with your shadow.
\n– you never learn, do you ? was your answer.
\ni smiled.
\ni can’t learn what you can’t teach.<\/em><\/p>\n

i took you to the banks of the river, where we watched the sun get burnt in the clouds.
\n– i can’t teach you to be happy, you said thoughtfully as if you had read in my thoughts. well, maybe you had, actually, read in my mind.
\n– i’m just asking you to teach me to live, i replied.
\n– you won’t learn that until you make me leave. it’s the only lesson you can learn from me, you muttered giving me a side glance.
\ni laughed.
\n– you don’t really mean it, i know it.
\nis it what you want ?<\/em>
\n– okay, no, you conceded.
\na pause. forever.<\/em><\/p>\n

but you went on.
\n– still you wish you could make me leave, don’t you ?
\nsaying no would have been a lie, you know.
\n– yeah, fuck you and leave me now, i said with a dry humour.
\nyou burst out laughing, surprisingly so hard that tears rolled down on your cheeks.
\n– c’mon then, catch me and kick me out if you can !
\ni started to run after you, on the deserted paved banks near the dark waters.
\ni was out of breath long before you. so while you ran further away from me, still laughing, i dug my camera out of my bag and fixed your silhouette as you were approaching the massive arch of the bridge, under a halo of dim light.
\nyou stopped right then, with the decisive click of the shutter.
\n can i picture the invisible ?<\/em><\/p>\n

you came back slowly, your regular pace that never makes a sound.
\n– you can’t picture the invisible, you know, you said a few steps from me.
\nyou rearranged gently my scarf around my neck, then looked straight into my eyes, with that inherent sadness that i can’t learn to decipher.
\n– i feel like i’ve missed a train, somewhere.
\nbut was it a train ?<\/em><\/p>\n

so you put your arm around my shoulders, as we started to walk side by side again, our hands in our pockets because we had forgotten our gloves.
\nwe found the way back home, taking our time, for we couldn’t care less about how late it was. i didn’t dare to make you pose for me, even when the lights and surroundings would have been perfect to frame you. we just weren’t in the mood anymore. <\/p>\n

later, as i was finally ready to go to bed, i set the alarm and turned out the lights. <\/p>\n

– g’night, dear friend solitude.
\nbut you didn’t reply, this time…<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

– i feel like i’ve missed a train, somewhere, i said. but was it a train ? you rearranged gently my scarf around my neck, then looked straight into my eyes, with that inherent sadness that i can’t learn to decipher. say something. we walked slowly, hands in our pockets because we’d forgotten our gloves. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-58","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-neverwhere"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=58"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=58"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=58"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/julietterobert.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=58"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}