The silence after the last train

I was on the platform at 1:17 a.m., waiting for nothing. The air smelled like wet concrete and old metal. When the last train finally passed — not even a stop, just a blur of lights — the silence didn’t settle so much as collapse into the rails. I’ve been thinking about how ports don’t close at night. They just… wait. Like that one dock in Rotterdam where the crane’s still standing, arms up, like it forgot to put down its tools.