It must be that time of the year once more
Cold winds sending chills down my spine
Shivers down to the base of my feet
My teeth chattering
Wind blown hair, misplaced, the fringe partly blocking my view
I stand at the platform and watch the train pull up
It's too full - 2 trains worth of passengers in 1.
I've been taking the train for the past 2 weeks and I hate every moment of it
I detest sharing my space, the musky smell of dusty carriages
School girls in uniform and make up as thick as the paints on my wall
Every strand in place, perfectly positioned, skirts too short for the winter
I digress
Afterall, this is about me
It has been a week of not wanting responsibilities
Same old questions, with no answers.
No answers that I am satisfied with.
Where am I now. What have I achieved? Where am I going.
I am lost; achieved too little; aimless.
I am just another face, a body occupying a space in the city streets.
The sense of losing control and of myself.
I am tired and it is so easy to curl up into a ball.
What I cannot see, I do not know.
And what I do not know, certainly will not hurt me.
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