What Day Is It?
When I look at the world, all I see is myself reflected.
Sometimes when I get on the train at 6.44 in the morning, and I’m looking around to find an empty seat away from the aisle, where I can sit and close my eyes for a moment, I get a glimpse of the other people on the train. And sometimes I can read their minds.
Some days everyone is happy. I look around and I see people smiling into their phones as they re-read the texts from their new beaus, while others snooze contently, their heads resting against the windows. Elsewhere in the carriage a couple giggle quietly to each other as they exchange sweet nothings, while someone else finds themselves enjoyably lost in a gripping novel.
On other days everyone looks tired. Fed up, like it’s been the longest week of their lives, battling through to Friday, eager to get home and rest, see their loved ones, and get their lives back. Their time back. Be free to be themselves.
And on other days they are ugly. Angry. Embittered. The years haven’t been kind, and the hardships of life making their presence felt in the lines around their eyes, the calluses on their hands, and the stiffness in their joints.
And other days they are beautiful. Immaculate. Pristine. Divine.
Everyday, when I look at the world I find myself reflected back. Some days I’m happy. Some days I’m tired, fed up, eager to get time to be myself, with those who matter the most. Some days I’m ugly. And some days I’m beautiful.