Midnight Train Home

I was walking home from the club, late at night in Atlanta’s Midtown district. The city was quiet except for the hum of train tracks, a constant presence since childhood. My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone to text her, again.

A Scar of Regret

The message was simple: “Hey, sorry I missed you tonight.” But she didn’t reply. Instead, I saw her profile picture change to a new status: “Available.” A pang hit me like a train speeding through the night. I kept walking, but my legs felt heavy and numb.

The Train Rumbles

I stopped at the next crosswalk, watching cars speed past. The train pulled into the station, its lights flickering overhead. I stepped inside, the car almost empty except for a few others like me, just passing through this moment in time.

The track hummed beneath my feet as we moved, carrying us to some unknown destination. In that silence, I heard her voice again, clearer than ever: “Maybe it’s time.”

The Confession

I sat down on one of the hard seats, knees drawn up to my chest. My phone buzzed; she had messaged me back. “Do you regret anything?” Her words echoed in my head as the train sped by old buildings and into the new.

“Yeah,” I typed, knowing it was true. “Regretting ever thinking this would work out.” The phone pinged with her reply: “No regrets then. Just moving forward.”

I stared at the screen, feeling a mix of relief and sorrow. The train pulled into my stop, and as I stepped off, I felt like I was walking home not just from the club, but from something more.

End of the Line

I walked out into the night air, the stars visible through the smog, almost clear enough to see. “Midtown Confession” played in my head, a track that captured this moment perfectly, the weight of leaving behind what could have been for someone else.

Every stream buys back a piece of what it cost.

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Listen to “Midtown Confession” here:

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