My heart belongs to Him and to get to Him you must look within to find the light that illuminates the dark … voids filling with sugar that seeps through the crevices and drives the momentum until one day you sit still and reflect in the wind and say….what was the point…..the point is simple….Light
A woman’s heart should be so hidden in God that a man has to seek Him just to find her
Ah my stomach churns at the realisation that if I hadn’t wasted time choosing what to wear, I could have been on the train which is now ever growing smaller. Now I must find an hour to stimulate my mind in solitude.
Hmmm should I soak up an earthy atmosphere with home grown coffee beans made with a whole lot of love or suck up to cheaply made instant coffee that’s never seen sunlight…..cooperate coffee it is then.
Rather overpriced for a cup of mocha that tastes like water and flavour.
With limited seats I ask a gentlemen if the seat that he seems rather territorial of is free and he replies “it won’t be for long”. So with that in mind I sit on the other side of him next to a senior gentlemen who has grown rather immune to the bitter taste of coffee and is shooting down an espresso with a custard tart. With a polite gesture and a camel grinding mouth he signals that I can sit next to him. How nice…..
Now with a tasteless mocha at my view I take out my boredom breaker….thank God for Chinua Achebe…now I don’t have to be left observing my surroundings and documenting it on a blog.
A little while goes by and I notice a flying insect trying hopelessly to defeat the illusion of the glass barrier that is in the way of his greener pasture. Keep trying little buddy, one day you will fly close enough to the door and be struck by a shining bright light…a journey wasted.
10 minutes has gone by and my seat hogging buddy is still preserving the seat for his ‘friend’, constantly looking at his phone and expecting someone to arrive and prove their existance. The senior gentlemen has been replaced by another senior with what seems like a replica, same styled hat, large mac jacket in blue this time and a latte….imagine if they came at the time…a picture moment for a friend that would have been. Why do old people wear the same clothes I wondered as the guy next to me nudges my side. “Sorry” he says, “that’s okay” …are you apologising for restricting anyone else from sitting and enjoying their well deserved coffee too….that’s ok…we could’ve started something. 3 strangers seated next to each other for 20 minutes and no word to speak. We are social beings yet at times when we could speak…we stay silent.
With 10 minutes left until my next train
I pack my belongings after senior #2 had left his empty cup and headed out. I leave the guy still waiting for a friend that seems to have left him looking rather foolish and lonely. If only strangers could speak…..we wouldn’t be so alone.
Exchanging words, he looks at her with a kink in his smile.
His body language changes without warning. He shifts and rotates himself away from her, legs crossed and arms retreated…the typical body language of an outcast. Clearly hurt he remains soundless, his male ego hurt from what is presumed a rejection of a sound idea. She continues to mark the printed paper in red but takes a break to observe the expression on his face. A quick nudge….no response. His gaze is transfixed on a gentleman’s shoe just ahead which were dull and over worn…..he is now lost deep in thought. The corner of his eyes are creased and his lips slightly pierced, it seems no one can penetrate into this man’s mind.
Was it the piece of paper, the disagreement…or the uncomfortable stare from the girl with the orange scarf sitting opposite. Who knows. I leave the carriage and capture a glimpse of remorse, perhaps a reconciliation. The train rides away in the opposite direction and I walk up the steps ready to make the journey home with no knowledge of the conclusion of that story.
Walking side by side, hand in hand they enjoy the world together once more like they did all those years before. From the outside, it appears as if these frail beings hold one another for the physical support. It’s only with their eyes can they see that time and patience has preserved love that saw sparks ignite in the hours of midnight. Truly he cannot relinguish his grip from hers, fearing that the beauty which once cradled his grieving chest would leave foot steps echoing in an empty hallway. The fear triggers a familiar sense of self afflicted lonliness governed by his self desire for a touch, a squeeze and money in the night breeze. *CLINK* *CLINK* The sound of fluid running through the pipes and releasing itself onto a stained coffee cup. Dinner for one…again. Continue reading “The unseen journey in their hands….”