Metro

It was cold and eerie, like you would expect an empty metro station to be. The bright orange M's are unnerving. Machinery swiping in your right ear because you have your earphones turned down in case there's a cancellation announcement. You think you can hear the metro coming along the tracks, you jump at the cough of a new stranger, but you're settled by the voice of a little human that they're with. They stop you to ask about which side they should be on, and you can't answer because you're not even sure what side you're supposed to be on.
You panic because it turns out there is a metro coming and you decide to switch platform and ask another stranger. You're thankful when you realise you are now on the right metro, happy to be out of the dreary station but wary of the strangers.

Metro

Tuesday 27 December 2016

A year from now

I was stood in central station, waiting on the arrival of my mother from her weekend away. On the platform I stood waiting and watching, watching people board and passengers saying goodbye to their families. Young adults I assumed were going off to universities with their many bags and cases, hugging their families tightly before setting off onto the train that will change their lives. My cheeks became wet with tears, my heart thumping limp in my chest. I could see the love of these people, wishing their son or daughter good luck. Their children all grown up, leaving home for three years. It broke my heart. For years I've been desperately wishing to be those people going off to university, set out for a new adventure but at the station my heart was with the families the students were leaving  behind. I felt their sorrow inside, I felt the longing the mothers would have wondering if their child is safe and happy every night. I thought of my own family, in exactly one year we will be in this very station feeling these very things, I cried to myself some more. The people I grew up with me, the memories and everyday things, how they will change the moment I drag my case onto the train. What broke my heart the most was the thought of Kara. The child I've seen grow from a baby, the delightful days, the memorable months and loving years I've seen her develop and her imagination open like a flower. I've been with her most of her life, and in a years time that will change. I won't see her for 12 weeks, she'll be twice as smart and twice as grown by the time I'll next see her. When I think of university, I think get away from home, as far as you can. Theoretically it sounds ideal, but in the station I already felt homesick, homesick because of something that hasn't even happened yet.

A year from now

Monday 5 September 2016