Waiting

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I sit quietly and wait. Maybe I have forgotten what I am waiting for. Maybe I have realized that all there is left to do is to wait. People hurry past me, to reach the trains that leave me behind. In a while they will be dispersed all a cross the country. I stay seated on my bag. It is a small bag, that's what happens. Your bag gets smaller. Before I used to carry a large bag, now I need less. That's another thing that happens; you start detaching yourself from things. Things have a certain worth, but only when they are necessary to you. Less is necessary to me now, I could think of it as dematerialization. Things reverse.

I still wait, nothing changes. A lot changes if you don't pay attention, but once you start waiting things stay the same. I look at the pavement in front of me, it somehow mirrors my reflection. It is grey like my hair, and so many people have passed it. But then it differs from me too. I used to be more stone-like, more unmovable. But now as I sit and wait I bear more resemblance to dust that has settled or becomes visible by gliding through light.

The stream of people passing is powerful and endless. I start to sweat as I watch it patiently. It will go on in the same way regardless of weather I am watching or not. But here I am sitting, as it streams past me, I sit on the side and I am not a part of it anymore. I remember when I was a part of the stream, I remember how days flew by faster the more I ran to catch up. What was I catching up with?

It has caught up with me now. Now that I sit and wait, wait for something to change.





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