A Long Weekend

He drops his travel bag by his feet, though gently, he’s not one for the harshness of sudden moves. It’s red and oiled, or so he thinks of it. Plasticy, shiny material, he doesn’t know the word for it. A good sized travel bag, though often he leaves it half empty. He doesn’t usually take long trips and this one is a short one too, just a long weekend. It has a reason, supposedly, a purpose. But as he boards the train he’s not too sure about it. Truth be told, he no longer wants to go. His heart’s not in it. But he took the extra day off and so go he shall. It’s too depressing to stay in his room for days on end. He wants to change his life. It’s heartbreaking really, to watch life twist and turn, except in the one way you want it to. Wanting something so single-mindedly isn’t good for him, he knows this deep down somewhere. So he decided to focus on other things, such as a change of atmosphere. But he feels tired already. The doors start beeping and just as they’re about to close, a butterfly comes drifting in on a fickle current of air. Or was there a purpose there too, he wonders. Did it wake up and think, I know exactly what I want to do? Probably not, he guesses life is rarely that clear cut and sometimes things just happen. It floats this way and that, white and airy, seemingly not yet perturbed by its captivity. Or maybe it just knows that everything is temporary. Because at some point those doors are bound to open up again. With that he settles more comfortably into his chair and looks out at the flashing landscape, and decides to make the most of it.