Remembering Sunday

An hour passed before the train rolled to a stop in the heart of Burlington City.

It was around one-thirty in the morning, and my only bit of sleep I got was on the train. I departed the Riverline Station and began my aimless wandering through the streets. Now was definitely not good apartment shopping time. Lamp posts lit my way, revealing the white buildings that sprung up around me after the sidewalks. The train tracks divided both lanes and each lane had white lines painted for parking spaces. Up ahead sat a four way intersection, the stoplights matching the lamp posts in black with sophisticated, classy designs.

It was a gorgeous city. Well, a gorgeous, violent city.

I wandered toward the intersection, remembering that my favorite neighborhood was just around the corner. I saw the navy sign with white writing that read, "Welcome to the Historic London Neighborhood" and the black arrow fences marking the first two houses' boundaries.

The road became much narrower as I turned to enter the neighborhood, and it wasn't even marked with lines for the lanes. It was a bit of a claustrophobic space, but in a good way. All the houses were built in red bricks and kissing the sidewalk. Planted trees sprung out of the sidewalk at odd intervals, my favorite being the cherry blossom tree at the corner ahead that hung over into the road. In some spots, the road was made of cobblestone, making it more historic looking. The path was very dark for me from the lack of lamp posts and from the towering trees that loomed over the rooftops, blocking out the starry night sky. I could manage, though.

Besides, the sky soon opened up when I made it to the end of the neighborhood and into what seemed like a park. There ahead of me with the moon shimmering fantastically among the waves loomed the Delaware River. Further down the river stood the gray Burlington Bristol Bridge, a few cars driving across it to get to Pennsylvania. I walked to the railing overlooking the river and sat on one of the wooden benches provided. I sighed in depression, wishing that Seth were there to share this beautiful moment with me.

But he wasn't, and it killed me.

I wiped my eyes, figuring there was more tears coming, but my skin was dry. I guess my tear ducts were dried out. I stared down at the water, watching the waves ripple south and the moon's reflection bounce against them. My stomach was hurting, but I held back my sickness.

Eventually I laid down on the bench and shoved my bags under it. My hoodie and jeans would keep me warm enough. Uncomfortable, but warm. My head hurt against the wood, but I soon grabbed one of my bags and used it as a pillow. A night under the stars in a beautifully violent city.

Just the night we all want, no?