I remember the peak, when I could stand here and look down the platform and see only the curve of the track, there was no one, not a soul, and I, I… liked it, wandering the city, noticing details… I touched walls and dry fountains and empty benches, I brushed the ankles of statues I had never noticed, I tasted history in clean air, but it wasn’t real, they returned, thinner, sadder, bereaved, some breathless on the steps, and my view was blocked by shoulders in a hurry trying to catch up on lost time… and my connection was lost.
Philip Berry’s short fiction has appeared in Literary Orphans, Ellipsis Zine and Liars League. He is a London based doctor. His work can be explored at www.philberrycreative.worpdress.com or @philaberry.
100 Words Of Solitude 