Why I Like the Train Station.
Sometimes I like to travel alone.
I can assume an identity that’s not one of my own.
I quicken my pace, even if I’m not late…
…a way to tell others “I know where I’m going; I don’t need fate.”
Just for a moment, as I head towards my train,
I know right where I’m going and I don’t have to be plain.
- That business man thinks I’m incredibly smart, because my book bag is so full it’s practically falling apart.
- The mother perceives me as graciously kind when I made her child smile and handed her the bottle she almost left behind.
- Blue-eyed boy with a hat thinks I’ve traveled the world because I wear foreign jewelry that sparkles when twirled.
In the midst of the bustle I can be who I’m not.
If only in the presumed opinions of others, that I’ve conjured to thought.