I feel like a dim shade of grey in amongst the iridescent fluidity of brilliant fullness. Watching people in a place like this, I feel as uninteresting as a dull moth floating alongside the most fantastic dragonflies. I can hear the whispers of lovers running away together, the insistent tin sound of voices many miles from this place and the silent gaps which should be filled by words that should be said. I see perfectly unbroken people everywhere and I see beyond the smiles hiding sadness. I smile down at the ground, watching the feet of strangers walking away from me, seeing the gum-dropped-and-trodden-upon tarmac and I see the tears roll from my cheeks only to be lost as soon as they touch the ground. I’m losing myself entirely among the crowd and I have never felt so complete. People are sitting on their suitcases, couples are canoodling on the benches and I am stood alone, on the edge of the platform with my single backpack, and I feel complete. This is good, I tell myself. Soon the train will come and everyone will be eager and anxious to get a seat, the platform will be empty and all potential thoughts of my existence will be forgotten in favour of thoughts of work and personal struggle and the world will be right again. I will fall away, eventually be erased from all memory and the only record of me ever being here will fade like my tears. What I would give for a beautiful stranger to ask me if my tears are burning my frail skin or if I will unpack my back pack in a place I call home or if they can take me for tea and make me smile. But all that I have in the silent change of the orange letters on the billboard above me, deciding my life for me; whether my train will arrive in time to save me or whether it will lose itself so entirely before it gets to me that I will have no chance at change. I need this. I need these people to forget me, because it means that the train station knew me in the first place. I see the whisper of steam coming from the tunnel and I turn, preparing myself. I smell the excitement and restlessness of the other soon-to-be-passengers and I look once mroe at the gum-dropped-and-trodden-upon pavement, see the train glide endlessly gradefully next to me. I look once more at the people behind me, wipe my eyes and smile. This platform will soon be empty and I have been saved. The sun gleams on the side of the polished carriage and agentle gust of wind blows the strewn litter from the platform and onto the street, showing the beauty of the station in its true form. I will not miss this place or it’s bleak beauty. The heat is intolerable and the stench of burnt coffee steals my gentle facade from beneath me. I stumble onto the train and as the doors slide shut behind me, hiding the now-empty-platform from me; and I am begun.