I heard that time seems to warp in airports and stations
because our brains don’t see them as real places,
only temporary passages,
marked by their impermanence.
Inside their walls, reality is in transition,
the way dreams fade out into hazy mornings.

In this drowsiness, I am transported.

Outside the window
emerald hills and dusky clouds
glittering with gold and silver
tumble behind with alarming speed
as if propelled into motion by
the strongest of forces
and concrete blocks scratch the sky
held too high by thousands of suits
and i wonder if it hurts to run
bearing such heaviness on their shoulders
but when one falls a newer one comes
with more energy and faster feet
and they run and run and run
as if trying to escape —
but from what, and to where?

I keep projecting forwards.
My body starts to ache.

I am still in transit.

From my carriage I wonder again,
Will they arrive before me?