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Memory

I remember the smell of burnt diesel from my teenage rail journeys. I also remember the color of your t-shirt, it was saffron. You had cut your hair small and were wearing a hair band. You had done up your eyebrows and your eyes sparkled and caught the light coming through the windows.

We sat close, you liked it that way. I remember the heady fragrance of your perfume as it mingled with diesel fumes. The world outside was greener then, and there seemed to be to many yellow flowers in the fields. Surprisingly, I remember little of what we spoke. I remember the chug of diesel engines negotiating curves and I remember you and I standing by open doors, counting bogies. You counting the bogies and I counting the seconds you cling on to me, living each moment of togetherness, as if it were eternity.

I love trains. Half my lines have trains in them.

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