If we ever find ourselves on the wrong train, we must get off at the next station.

It doesn’t matter if we have to pay a high cost for a new ticket, or if the ghost of an old mistake makes us ache with embarrassment. Every price we pay to fix the situation is worth the mercy of not going the wrong way.

To lack the courage to get off is to surrender to a destination that isn't ours; and the farther the station, the higher the cost we will eventually have to pay in time, in heart, and in the distance back to ourselves. But for us, Angela, France, Kylie, Alexa, and Medz, there was never a wrong station to get off at. 

We drifted through the veins of the LRT 2, spilling out onto every platform not because we had somewhere to be, but because of what was already there—the quiet ache of a bond, the gold of stolen time, and the way our eyes memorized the architecture of each other. Long after the trains stop running, those mental Polaroids will remain.