#commuter

I'm in the window seat and am like, awkwardly trapped now.

Relieving the tedium of the commute home by playing cards. Penn Station, 1958.

Commute

Washington D.C.

Sage pastures across the window panes, I can see the wind through the waltzing leaves. The sun seems to make its way to the ground, but the forming clouds keep on running.

In the shade of mist, green reigns on this land with their daughters shining in red, yellow and pink. Butterflies having their supper, and bees are on their way home. Migrating flocks, sheltering cows. It was a comforting view for an exhausted student in a moving bus.

My leaning head makes me see reflections, poor two brown eyes shift the beautiful scene into gray. My eyes traverse along the rows of chairs, and notice each silent eye watching those shiny things.

Under the dim light is a person who wishes to go somewhere else, other than a house. Maybe, one day I could ride those clouds, and slide my way down the rainbows. But, instead, I got to sit in front of that wooden desk with papers and pens on my hands.

The morning after the storm. I can smell the caffeinated smoke and the voices of the winged angels above the tree, chirping their way to their homes.

On the table lies a plate of sliced apple pie and a mug, with a cursive "it'll get better soon."

The warmth of the light, the coming of autumn. I see my mother and my sister exchanging pies from the cabinet's bottom. Perhaps, I don't want to leave.

So, I'll stay.