buses and trains.
The train ride home always got to him. not that it mattered that he was alone, but it felt like forever would never come, and he'd be standing on that same spot and never find his way home. To where it was all supposed to be alright, but it never is. He stares out his window and makes a passing remark to himself. Not that he's sure of what he's said; he just did, and he knew it wasn't important enough, so he doesn't mark it down.
outside in the rain there's a woman whose charles and keith heels are stuck in a drain. he ponders on that image for a while, but before he can think of something profound to say or something important to do the train whizzes off and leaves the woman with her wet suit and hair. it stays with him, that awful feeling that he could have done something, but when he gets to the next stop he already forgot what shade of pink her hand bag was.
when he gets there he tries to think of other things, of the course of the night, the laughter, the conversations, the crazy banter. the sound of her voice in his ears, the sound that would ring. he wished he could call it his. name it, and claim it for himself when he hears it again. maybe in some alternate universe, when he is a better person, the voice would call him her own. but til then there was nothing he could really do; the voice belonged to someone else.
which is just as well. at the next stop he drifts off into a sea of mental blur, not sure of what to do with himself as he stands next to the empty seat. there's a group of 3 people in front of him, and their adidas stripes and back turned caps lead him to think they are dancers. of course, he doesnt know for sure, he's just thinking. at one point he wished he could be like one of them. maybe she'll like it, maybe she'll see more of me. maybe. who knows.
but she doesnt like awkward guys in oversized shirts. the voice of rationality begins to speak in his head as he hangs on when the train comes to a stop. time to go home now, and to stop dreaming. perhaps in time, one day, when he gets on another train, his thoughts would be of the optimistic sort, and he can be carefree. but til then, he's here, next to himself with his ipod, listening to the songs that would in future be too painful for his aching heart.
i wished you would step off from that ledge, my friend.
The train ride home always got to him. not that it mattered that he was alone, but it felt like forever would never come, and he'd be standing on that same spot and never find his way home. To where it was all supposed to be alright, but it never is. He stares out his window and makes a passing remark to himself. Not that he's sure of what he's said; he just did, and he knew it wasn't important enough, so he doesn't mark it down.
outside in the rain there's a woman whose charles and keith heels are stuck in a drain. he ponders on that image for a while, but before he can think of something profound to say or something important to do the train whizzes off and leaves the woman with her wet suit and hair. it stays with him, that awful feeling that he could have done something, but when he gets to the next stop he already forgot what shade of pink her hand bag was.
when he gets there he tries to think of other things, of the course of the night, the laughter, the conversations, the crazy banter. the sound of her voice in his ears, the sound that would ring. he wished he could call it his. name it, and claim it for himself when he hears it again. maybe in some alternate universe, when he is a better person, the voice would call him her own. but til then there was nothing he could really do; the voice belonged to someone else.
which is just as well. at the next stop he drifts off into a sea of mental blur, not sure of what to do with himself as he stands next to the empty seat. there's a group of 3 people in front of him, and their adidas stripes and back turned caps lead him to think they are dancers. of course, he doesnt know for sure, he's just thinking. at one point he wished he could be like one of them. maybe she'll like it, maybe she'll see more of me. maybe. who knows.
but she doesnt like awkward guys in oversized shirts. the voice of rationality begins to speak in his head as he hangs on when the train comes to a stop. time to go home now, and to stop dreaming. perhaps in time, one day, when he gets on another train, his thoughts would be of the optimistic sort, and he can be carefree. but til then, he's here, next to himself with his ipod, listening to the songs that would in future be too painful for his aching heart.
i wished you would step off from that ledge, my friend.
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