2 hours and 15 minutes.

I keep telling myself that it would be better to give up on you.
Because maybe you've already given up on me.
But whenever I think 6 months from here, in a world where you'll be unreachable, I feel like I'm gonna regret not getting inside a train that in a matter of 2 hours and 15 minutes would take me to you.
I feel like I should tell you this.
But I'm scared that maybe now you have someone who lives one station apart from you, or maybe who accepts having your few words during the week, knowing that in the weekend is going to see the most radiant smile on earth.
I wish I knew for sure I won't fall for you. Than having you once a week would be enough.
But the possibility of falling makes me rush to learn how to fly, even though there are high chances I have no wings.
And I've been learning how to fly with my invisible wings. Unsuccessfully.
Each day I walk one step closer to this abyss between us. But still too scared of falling.
I keep shouting questions from here.
You answer with echoing one-word sentences.
It feels like the cave you're in gets deeper and deeper.
You're so far I can't see you.
Maybe you're getting closer to the past. Farther from me.
I'm scared of shouting one more question and getting as a reply only an echo from a previous answer.
You're only 2 hours and 15 minutes from me.
But I'm scared that sooner you're gonna be 6 months from me.
And no train is gonna head to the past.