what secrets hidden
behind the eyes of the hive
children hurrying
Sometimes I look at people and wonder what their lives are like, whether they are happy or sad. Whether they feel fulfilled. Whether they have tried their best, whether they have regrets. Sometimes I feel an intense sadness, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, there is something I pick up, in someone’s face, the way they walk, it may just be a reflection of what I’m feeling deep down. But it’s a despair, a pity. I sense something powerfully lonely about it all, about individuals, about a place, where so many millions of people live, yet so many people are on their own.
We are all children of routine, the morning rush at Paddington an example of it. Rushing, time our master. It’s the way of the world. I had a spare half an hour waiting for my train. It’s fascinating when you step outside of that and just watch. And somehow ever so sad.
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