Today everything was grey. All four of us sitting in our hotel room, asking each other what the next move was, waiting for the other person to say it first. Who would go first and tell the rest of us how it was? It’s easy to get swept up in the news, especially when you are the news. I needed coffee before I decided whether I was going into Ukraine or not. I wanted to walk off the nervous energy and prepare myself for the answer I already knew. I had to go today. There is only a small window of time for these things, and I couldn’t let it fade one more day. I walked fifteen minutes to the McDonalds. Eastern Europe is depressing. Some people say it’s because they just never recovered from the war, passing on the trauma from one generation to the next. The houses are grey, barely held together, and there is no grass. If there is, that’s grey too. Anna drove us to the train station in her bright pink shirt and nails. We waved goodbye to a comfort we had grown quickly used to seeing every time we walked in the hotel. All of us waving to her when we came in as if we were little kids waving to our parents every time the merry-go-round passed them. We lugged our bags to platform 5 and joined the crowd of people. We stood by the fire and warmed our hands, trying to pass the four hours until the train arrived. Nervous energy and the cold don’t go well together. My backpack resting on my hips and shoulders, afraid if I took it off I would have to commit to getting on the train. At least if I left it on, I could leave the station and still have the choice. We moved farther onto the crowd and I noticed a man with curly hair and a “c” shaped scar on his cheek. His facial structure very unique. The kind where you don’t know if he’s attractive or not. His big brown eyes darted around as the snow fell. He saw me shivering and grabbed hand warmers from his backpack and gently put them in my palm, folding up my hand over them. He had tattoos of something written on the back of his hand and I wanted to brush my fingers over them. He spoke to me in Polish and I nodded along as if I understood every word. He backed away, staring blankly and our lives went back to the way we were before. Going in the same direction, doing very different things. In his left hand, a giant bag of medicine. In mine, hand warmers. When he handed me these, I wanted to cry. I don’t know why. Maybe the act of kindness from a stranger. The gentle curling of his hands over mine. The idea that people could be so soft and kind while others wanted to kill for no reason. Finally they let us through and we were led to a few different cars at the back of the train. Each step knowing what I was doing. Strollers lined to the left and a chipped blue and yellow train on my right. We sat next to two men from Manchester. A father and son, who went to evacuate their family in Lviv. They had a cheery English banter that made me forget all my anxieties. Offering me sandwiches and water until finally, an orange chocolate biscuit. The father was a bit younger than my Grandad but had the same English stiff upper lip. His mannerisms were similar. And when he offered me a biscuit, the comforts of home flooded back to me. The memories of being at my Grandma and Grandad’s house for the week as a kid, all the chocolate biscuits and tea I was given. The yellow plaid duvet cover. This time I did cry, out of pent up anxiety and emotion. The kindness of strangers, again. Probably all combined. The windows of the train steamed up from the breaths of everyone. What was once a very cold, metal train was now warmed and cozy. We ran through the Ukrainian countryside, our train chugging into the darkness. Ever-changing horizons flicked through the windows like a t.v. screen, occasionally bright and shiny churches contrasted the grey landscapes. The train was slow enough I could see people swinging in their back garden and running around with the animals, bundled up in their winter coats. All was well and there are brief moments where I forget what is happening just a few hundred kilometers away. The grey land matched my melancholic mood and the father and son matched the attitude I wish I could have. I got up and found the curly headed man on the other side of my car, I looked at him through the crowd. For some reason I felt safe with him there. I don’t know why, probably out of necessity to ease my mind. The sky grew darker and I have always been afraid of what comes after dark. My eyes want to close, but my mind won’t let me. We are close.