It was the saddest thing in the world, held like a worthless scrap in the palm of your hand. It was all you had. Your last seconds of me, cheap and easy. It cost you dear. You ran down the platform with it in your grasp, slowing, stopping where the platform tipped into the grass alongside the track. It slipped from the hand you raised to wave and was sucked away in the slipstream of the train, while you watched until the red light behind was a glimmer and gone, and nothing lasted but the ache. Not even a platform ticket, purchased for coppers, that saddest thing.