On the way home…
Ξ February 2nd, 2008 | → | ∇ General |
There is a quietness in the air tonight. The snow of the past couple days has parted, and there is now a hazy gray coating the sky, and a crisp white upon the ground. The streets are piled with slush, endlessly churned by the wheels and feet of the city tromping through it.
Imbolg is tomorrow. The sun will be reborn, the spiritual beginning of spring. It is this time, when I find myself beginning things anew. There is birth, fertilized by the death of the winter. There is sadness in the passing of those who have left us, or moved on to other relationships, but the snow is fresh and clean, and it washes my heart of it’s injuries.
I’m on the train as I write this. The red line is very useful. I can sit here on the train with my laptop and type away, letting my words flow through my fingers and into green text on the background. And there are people all around me, some of whom wonder what it is I’m doing, who stare ate me. Who are engrossed in their own activities, or only want to get to wherever they’re going.
I’m always interested in the passengers on the el. Most of them are different every day. It’s rare to see the same person two days in a row. Perhaps it’s just that my schedule is not dependable (rather, I rarely come or go at the same time). But there is always a variety of people on the train, people who fascinate and interest me as much as I’m sure I interest them.
I often wonder, what would they say if they knew that there was a witch sitting across from them? A faggot? Okay, neither is really that uncommon in this city, but I’m always wondering about the secrets that we keep from each other. Our lives are so personal, so private, and I wonder why it’s so.
There is a cute guy who just got off the train, replaced by a very not-so-cute guy. I hate it when that happens. This was Belmont, only 7 more stops to go, then I’m home. The really pretty boy down the aisle from me puts on his backpack and gets ready to leave at Addison. He’s got pretty wire-rim glasses and a collegiate appearance. He’s carrying a 3″ white 3-ring binder. Stats intern perhaps.
The sky has grown darker in the last 5 minutes, it’s clear that the sun has finally set. Addison approaches and the cold air from the street below rushes up into the train car. I’m done I think, there is nothing pressing to say, only the cop out that I don’t really know why it is that we can’t be more open with each other, why we try to protect our ’selves’ from being known. I have some theories, but they’ll keep for another day.
