On the train

She didn’t know who he was and for certain, she’ll never know. She would give her life for not knowing, because that was what it is all about: Not knowing but inventing. That was what she did, every day when she took the train to work. Twentytwo minutes she spent in the morning, wondering whom the other passengers might be, and twentytwo minutes she spent in the evening, wondering what the other passengers were like.
She did that since she was little. And she will do it when she’s grey and old. That’s her madness, her relaxation, her creative space during the day.
And he – sat there already, when she entered. It was late, too late for her normally. After work she went for dinner with her colleagues and after that for drinks and now it was late and she was tired and she hasn’t noticed him at first. She put on music, determined not to think too much and closed her eyes and when a passenger shouted loudly through the train she opened her eyes again, furious a little but too exhausted to say something and there- there he was. He was fascinating, different, careless all in once – she didn’t know he was and she didn’t want to know. Because that was what it is all about.

Alisa de Winter

This post is part of my series `Portraits’.

|Photo found on gardenfuzzgarden.com|


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