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i wrote a story today....thought i would share it...there's a pattern to it..if you notice it than your awesome!
“Secret Pocket”
Always raining on the Monday’s you never want to wake up, but still I put on my black pea coat and walk out the door. Balancing grief and daily work issues makes these dim rainy days impeccable and the packed subway ride claustrophobic.
“Closing Doors,” say’s the train operator as I find a space to grab onto a germ-infested bar so I wouldn’t fall into other passengers.
Dandruffy men in cheap suits and bathed in cologne surround me and all I feel like doing is screaming at the top of my lungs and running back to an empty bed with a box full of tissues.
“Edison Station,” say’s the train operator as I only have five more stops till I’m bound to the constraints of work.
Failure feels like it’s imprinted on my face; I can never succeed in the world of relationships, and this one mattered the most; I had the real thing. Glancing around the train, people get off more people get on all brushing and pushing people against me. Home is where I’d rather be than standing with strangers on a packed subway train. Impossible to move around I get paranoid whether or not someone will try to pit pocket me.
“Jefferson Station,” say’s the train operator as I become gloomier due to I only have two more stops.
Kicking and screaming kids who don’t want to go to school block my melancholy thoughts and I wish I could join them in their tantrums. Losing him was the biggest mistake of my life and all because I have a hard time controlling my emotions; this could have been prevented. Monday’s on the train never seem to change not even with seasons; when it’s raining everyone smells of rain when it’s hot everyone makes the train musty while this Monday was odd to me. Nearing my stop I have this peculiar feeling of someone’s watching every move I make. Out of nowhere the train jerks sending bodies into railings and other bodies; I get pushed around and trampled by the cheap smelly suit men.
“Palmerton Station,” say’s the train operator, as only one more stop is between me and work; it’s not too late to turn around.
Quavering my hello into my phone the boss asks me to pick up coffee for him and his buddies; I can only say yes and press end on the phone.
“Remington/North Amber Station,” say’s the train operator and I gather my thoughts and make my way off the train.
Stepping out into the rain I open up my umbrella and walk to the nearest coffee shop and order the weakest tasting coffee that no one would want to drink. Tussling the tray of bad coffee, my umbrella, and my briefcase to the office was a challenge I could have done without on this morning of all mornings. Ultimately, I reached the old building with my hands tied up I put the coffee on the wet stone stoop and rummaged through my coat pocket. Vacantly I stared at a piece of torn notebook paper that someone on the train must have slipped in my pocket while being tossed around like a beach ball.
“Wishing you was here beside me. Let’s talk things out and we can fix our problems. I love you and can’t stand not seeing you everyday. You look so sad. Dinner tonight? Please. -Love, B,” as I read it over and over to myself trying to remember if he was on the train with me.
Xanadu evening with him again makes me smile to myself and rush up the stairs to drop off the coffee so I can sit at my desk and read his note over and over again with waves of hope filling me with warmth. Yammering of the office is blocked out of my mind today and the only thing I can focus on is this evenings dinner plans and the butterflies growing in my stomach. Zabaglione* in the center of the table we talked for hours on how to face our issues and though appearing at the restaurant alone I left that night with his hand in mine.
*italian dessert ;]
“Secret Pocket”
Always raining on the Monday’s you never want to wake up, but still I put on my black pea coat and walk out the door. Balancing grief and daily work issues makes these dim rainy days impeccable and the packed subway ride claustrophobic.
“Closing Doors,” say’s the train operator as I find a space to grab onto a germ-infested bar so I wouldn’t fall into other passengers.
Dandruffy men in cheap suits and bathed in cologne surround me and all I feel like doing is screaming at the top of my lungs and running back to an empty bed with a box full of tissues.
“Edison Station,” say’s the train operator as I only have five more stops till I’m bound to the constraints of work.
Failure feels like it’s imprinted on my face; I can never succeed in the world of relationships, and this one mattered the most; I had the real thing. Glancing around the train, people get off more people get on all brushing and pushing people against me. Home is where I’d rather be than standing with strangers on a packed subway train. Impossible to move around I get paranoid whether or not someone will try to pit pocket me.
“Jefferson Station,” say’s the train operator as I become gloomier due to I only have two more stops.
Kicking and screaming kids who don’t want to go to school block my melancholy thoughts and I wish I could join them in their tantrums. Losing him was the biggest mistake of my life and all because I have a hard time controlling my emotions; this could have been prevented. Monday’s on the train never seem to change not even with seasons; when it’s raining everyone smells of rain when it’s hot everyone makes the train musty while this Monday was odd to me. Nearing my stop I have this peculiar feeling of someone’s watching every move I make. Out of nowhere the train jerks sending bodies into railings and other bodies; I get pushed around and trampled by the cheap smelly suit men.
“Palmerton Station,” say’s the train operator, as only one more stop is between me and work; it’s not too late to turn around.
Quavering my hello into my phone the boss asks me to pick up coffee for him and his buddies; I can only say yes and press end on the phone.
“Remington/North Amber Station,” say’s the train operator and I gather my thoughts and make my way off the train.
Stepping out into the rain I open up my umbrella and walk to the nearest coffee shop and order the weakest tasting coffee that no one would want to drink. Tussling the tray of bad coffee, my umbrella, and my briefcase to the office was a challenge I could have done without on this morning of all mornings. Ultimately, I reached the old building with my hands tied up I put the coffee on the wet stone stoop and rummaged through my coat pocket. Vacantly I stared at a piece of torn notebook paper that someone on the train must have slipped in my pocket while being tossed around like a beach ball.
“Wishing you was here beside me. Let’s talk things out and we can fix our problems. I love you and can’t stand not seeing you everyday. You look so sad. Dinner tonight? Please. -Love, B,” as I read it over and over to myself trying to remember if he was on the train with me.
Xanadu evening with him again makes me smile to myself and rush up the stairs to drop off the coffee so I can sit at my desk and read his note over and over again with waves of hope filling me with warmth. Yammering of the office is blocked out of my mind today and the only thing I can focus on is this evenings dinner plans and the butterflies growing in my stomach. Zabaglione* in the center of the table we talked for hours on how to face our issues and though appearing at the restaurant alone I left that night with his hand in mine.
*italian dessert ;]