I sit on platforms and wait.
I wait for trains. A thousand other people wait with me. Their sounds, I internalise. Their humanity I recognise. For I am a manifestation of the same spaces they dwell in, in their minds. I am them. These people who wait for trains with me have sweat beads dancing on their foreheads, familiar smells of bodies and foaming life.
Even when they offer me unfamiliar, cold stares, they speak of only one thing – flesh & blood. Humanness.
I recline my head and turn my attention back to my writing. I continue waiting for trains. Because I know that as long as I wait, the train eventually comes.