It's remarkable how this is one of the only times I feel alive.
On a train hurtling passed the shore
while I sit with my God-awful train station tea brewing before me.
Yet each time I do this, I question
why must everything be so overwhelming
and complicated.
When my favourite feelings are inspired by something not quite so majestic
as a view from upon a mountain
or that of a shoreline to die for.
But simply, my shoreline.
Albeit dingy.
And this tea so pitiful.
Perhaps this feeling isn't the feeling of being alive
but of satisfaction
by the difference that something so small can make
in a world of so much.