she waits at the platform. the train left years ago. she waits anyway. the dress is still white. the flowers are still fresh. time does not apply to people who never got their answer.
every station has one. the figure at the end of the platform who is always facing the tracks. always almost boarding. always staying. you have seen her in every goodbye that went wrong.
the ghost bride does not haunt the station. the station haunts her. it keeps her in the moment before departure. the last second where it could have gone differently. she lives in the breath between yes and the door closing.
you recognize her. not from a story. from a mirror. from every time you stood at a threshold and chose to stay because leaving would mean admitting it was over.
the train is not coming. it was never coming. that was never the point.
she has been waiting since before the station was built. the station was built because she was waiting.