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 suit 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?