The silence after the last train

I was on the platform at 5:47 a.m., waiting for the one that never comes. The tracks were cold underfoot, and the air smelled like rust and wet concrete. I stood there until the sky turned from blue to gray, not because I needed to go anywhere, but because the quiet felt like something you could hold in your hands. It’s funny how a city wakes up — not with noise, but with the absence of it.