The exact moment the train stopped being a metaphor

I was staring at the rain on the window, thinking about how the rhythm of the tracks used to match my breathing when I was younger — like the train was just an extension of my nervous system. Then I realised it wasn’t the train that changed. It was me. Now I just hear the brakes and think: oh, another one’s going to be late. And that’s the sad part — I used to believe in arrival. Now I just wait for the announcement.