one life left to make it

Standing on the station platform, listening to the hum of electricity, watching the merging lights of the windows. Thinking: "and I am gone from her thoughts, as quickly and as easily as this train leaves the station."
Is it any wonder that I can leave, just like that, that I can leave it all behind?
Just like that.

The moon is in uncommon beauty, the clouds awash with its light. The towers of Manhattan glow across the marsh, silent, a planetary city. Not long ago I walked among them, awash in their light and full of a bursting happiness.
And now that happiness is gone from me, departed like a train departing the station. The joy of homecoming is not one I understand, only the desolation of an adventure at its end. Tired, spent, but I don't want to sleep.
I never want to sleep.

Surely it doesn't have to be this way? Surely there is a way to fit, a way to be happy with each day, and happy to end it. Not content, because content is forgetting, one day at a time.
Content is forgetting time.

I want to be beyond time.