Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.

The speaker fuses two kinds of longing: the helplessness of watching time move on without you, and the obsessive gravity of attachment. The train image suggests a life or future already departing—time is not merely moving forward but leaving the speaker behind, close enough to see and feel, too far to board. The second sentence turns devotion into a kind of burden: thinking about the beloved is constant, involuntary, and exhausting, even as it is tender. The wish that the other person never has to think “as much” carries a paradoxical generosity—wanting to spare them the ache—while also revealing the speaker’s isolation inside their own intensity.