Distraction From Self

 She took the train a lot, or just wandered through the streets. Just to get away. The people and the city lights distracted her from herself. Enough to keep her tangled mind at bay. 

She watched the junkies, the artists, the damaged and even the white collar prissy 

All filled in anger, sadness and self-righteous hypocrisy   

Watching the people was her form of distraction. All on their way home or heading to work. Doing errands, looking for their next fix, selling something or another or simply strolling.  

The dingy bars, their lights flickering, stray dogs in the alleyways growling. The moms attending to their whiny kids, probably anticipating their next glass of wine and cigarette.  

Everyone with somewhere to go, a reason to be there.  

Here, she felt free, but she knew she would go home to again feel like she’s choking on air. 

The air was so much thinner in the city it felt. But she knew it was just her own fears and the unfortunate cards she had been dealt. 

She liked to bring her notebook when she wandered or took the train. To write down all the stories of passerby’s and have the privilege of storing them in her brain. 

She gave the people names and sometimes created a life for them in her book. In hopes of one day creating for herself a brand new outlook.  

These people had no idea that they helped her escape.  

The train and wandering is all she has left to make her feel okay. To feel alive. At work or even home this was feeling she never could derive.  

She just hoped these people did have a place to go and a purpose for going there.  

She assumed if everyone was out there wandering just to feel something, like her, life just wouldn’t be fair.

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