Looking up at neon train times, contemplating life and creation - usually finding myself whimsically looking up to the sky wondering how clouds work or why that part is that colour or why that part is moving and that part is not.
It's either really hot or really cold, and whatever the weather, I am inappropriately dressed.
Now, what to do. Get coffee? Is there time? Will I have to run for the train coffee cup in hand and do the embarrassing thing of slowing down to edge my way to a doorway that's not crammed full of angry commuters or buggys? Which pocket is my phone in? How much battery is there left on my iPod? Will it last the journey? Will I last the journey is more the point.
There is usually an underlying sense of guilt attached to my contemplative waits on endless platforms. It has increased over the course of the last year, each time bringing with it more questions, more times of deep reflection, more times when I've simply had to shake myself out of thinking about it for fear of delving deeper into my narcissistic hours of thought and motion. This guilt comes from spending money, from alcohol, from boys, from ignorance. Mainly from ignorance. Mainly from not listening. The list is truly endless like no other list. Defying a plan, leading me to endless train stations, and feeling like I'm running from something.
Now this contemplative knot tightens, symbolizing uncertainty.
'Your future is Mine' a voice whispers.
The voice swims through me, exciting, unnerving, supernatural and wild. It rips through me daily, seeking me out and challenging me and all of a sudden it's a minute until the train I'm due to board arrives and I'm always grateful to get moving again so that the voice can reign supreme.
Your future is mine. It is louder now, and as quick as I am reassured, the knot in my stomach is gone.
