Fleeting Glances

The old train station stood silent, a relic of forgotten journeys, its benches still warm from the touch of ghostly travelers. Above, the skylights fractured the noon sun into soft shards that danced on the dust.

A woman in a crimson scarf, awaiting a connection she doesn't remember. She stares blankly at the empty tracks, her gaze horizon-less.

Outside, the world turned swiftly, a blur of colors and sounds. Here, time slipped by, unnoticed and unheeded, like the whisper of wind through hollowed walls.

Two children playing tag among the columns, laughter echoing, though no one else is there to hear it. Fleeting joy, captured like fireflies in a jar.

Shadows lengthened, stretching their fingers across the platform, drawing lines in the sand of everyday life. An unseen clock ticked, but its voice was distant, irrelevant.

An elderly man, his eyes like faded photographs, watches the world with a knowing smile. He is both part of it, and apart from it, an eternal observer.

Beyond the station, the horizon beckons with promises of distant lands and untold stories. But here, in this moment, all is stillness and serenity.

echoes | unwritten | solitudes