eternal golden hour

Last night I dreamt I was on a train at eternal golden hour heading to a place I don't know. It was so real I swear I could feel the thrum of machinery when I fell awake. It seemed so lovely when I stood there among blurry faces and dirty sneakers. Maybe that's why it couldn't stay.

Last night I dreamt I was on a train at eternal golden hour heading to a place I don't remember. It was so real I swear I could feel the dripping sun when I fell awake. It seemed so still when I stood there among blank eyes and grimy seats, like flies in amber. Maybe that's why it couldn't start.

Last night I dreamt I was on a train at eternal golden hour heading to a place I don't think exists. It was so wrong, I swear the faceless passengers were taunting me by the time I fell awake. It seemed so terrifying when I stood there among those repressed memories with a name. Maybe that's why I was glad when I blinked awake.

And last night I dreamt I met myself on a train at eternal golden hour, heading to a place I don't want to find. Her face was vivid and out of everyone in that train, she was the only to meet my gaze. My reflection whispered a thought in my ear before passing by, yet when I fell awake the dream dissolved under my tongue. It seemed so lucid, and I wish I knew why.