I saw your face at one of those mundane-looking windows. I saw your grasp tighten on the white frame. I wanted to wave at you, but I just stared. You kept looking afar at the foggy city and the men in black patrolling the fences at the border. Your thinning hair was being ruffled by the wind. I don’t know if I wished to be the wind. Wind can cross fences. Wind can caress you.

But why did all the windows burst open? Why did umpteen other faces peek out to distract me? Why did yet another train have to arrive in between to cut off your window from mine? As the fog hanging over the city descended on the lines and engulfed all fantasies, I slipped from my delirium to a febrile sleep. When I wake up it is midday. The sun must be scorching under the clouds. The sky looks a sick, moldy colorless. I walk through the corridor. All the passengers are sleeping. I find myself light even though I didn’t drink. I imagine little creatures covering every surface that I see, giving them their colors. I try to shake off the scum from my jacket. I feel them fall. I feel grey. I feel lighter. As light as the wind.

But the train starts moving. But the window is now closed. The black behind the glass panes turns even darker than your eyes. My train crosses the fences without me looking into the black.