There once was a pilgrim who had walked so many roads on foot that one evening he longed for something else.
A train. A window seat. A journey where you simply sit still and let the world roll past.
And sure enough, at the edge of a small town, he found a station.
A clock above the platform.
A bench with two old suitcases.
A departure board, waiting for its moment.
Here, the pilgrim thought, the great journey begins. Somewhere beyond these tracks lies the destination everyone dreams of.
He sat down on the bench and waited.
The clock kept perfect time. The rails gleamed in the moonlight. The departure board stayed blank, as blank as only a departure board can be.
On the station roof, a small black box blinked blue. It announced nothing. No departure, no arrival, not even a delay.
The suitcases belonged to no one. Or perhaps to everyone who had ever waited here.
And slowly, the pilgrim understood.
Not every platform has a train.
Not every journey has a destination.
And some begin by simply standing up again.
This is no travel agency. No timetable to happiness. No insider tip for your next holiday.
It is a platform where nothing departs.
Nothing more.
So, Traveler —
There is no journey here.
No booking.
No destination waiting for you.
The last train never left.
Go home, pilgrim.
And the platform, at last, was quiet.