By IlliterateWriter

It's having a place to go, to have a train seat waiting for my presence, in rain, in snow, in sun, to grace its day. To read, to eat, to sit and listen to laughter as rhythmic chugging of the engines seem to race against time itself.

I tell myself to slow down.

It is the realization that I can still be alone, to never fear the thought of strangers in a strange land, because to them, I am the mystery. I check my pockets once more for the train ticket going away from home.

My heart beats with anticipation.

As the train approaches the platform. I scramble out into the sunlight, shouting with joy in French. The other passengers look on with amusement--or fright--or both.

But what do I care? I have seized the day.


Created: Jul 30, 2010


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