I Am Looking For The Wind

All the while, the world would keep turning.

“I am looking for the wind,” she thought to herself as she sat in the station. It was cleaner than she might have expected.

The wind. It was always passing you by.

She let the train come and go. She was not in a hurry and she didn’t particularly feel like standing up when it had arrived.

A frantic man with dark stubble around his chin and a briefcase in his hand dashed through the doors as it closed. Disinterested passengers didn’t even glance up.

The marquee said another train would be by in 6 minutes.

The writing on the wall adjacent was foreign to her. There are so many languages, so little time.

So many people, with so many things to say.

The platform was empty, save for the wrapper of a candy bar laying just outside its mark. She thought about getting up to finish the job.

A horn in the distance. Squealing brakes. Tortured metals grinding, signaling the stress and strain of taxiing its passengers to and from their required destinations.

The heat of the underground sat heavily in the air. The thickness of it held onto her shoulders like a cloak.

The marquee flashed, indicating an arrival at any second now.

Time felt so irrelevant in that moment.

She thought idly of life. She didn’t want to die, but she imagined the decision to step in front of the train in its arrival.

The terror on the face of the driver. The small bump the train would feel passing her over on the tracks. The gruesome spray of blood and tissue and crushed bone. The inevitable, though brief news sensation it would create. The perfunctory investigation it would launch. The cleanup crew who would remove all sign it had ever happened.

All the while, the world would keep turning.

A light shone down the tunnel. The roaring of the tracks brought her back into the present.

She stretched lazily on the blue steel bench. Her mind was tired and her body was sore. She leaned over to scratch the itch on her ankle.

The train stopped.

An audible sigh escaped her lips as she stood. She considered the length of the train and picked a door several lengths down.

It felt more inviting than the others.

And like every other day, on any other train, she arrived to her destination.

There were no divinations, revelations, chance encounters or moments of magic with a beautiful stranger. No one else seemed to find these doors inviting.

She welcomed the crisp morning air as she stepped out of the station.

The world was quiet, except for a few small birds conversing amongst themselves in the trees that decorated the wide sidewalks.

Her legs reminded her that she wanted to be home, tucked away in the safety of bed.

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

For a brief moment, she almost felt still. Her mind cleared, the fog was swept away for just long enough to feel clean.

And in that clarity there was truth. The truth of loneliness. A puzzle piece that had been torn away and lost forever. A peculiar numbness where one should feel warmth. A misunderstanding of what it was she wanted. An unbridgeable gap separating her from that which fills the empty spots.

It was drowning in the ocean when her soul needed to fly.

Gasping for breath, she spit the water out of her lungs and let the fog spill back into the hidden cracks and corners. Walk. She opened her eyes. She was back in her room again.

She slipped her shoes off her aching feet. Her pants slid to the ground. Her shirt pulled over her head and onto the floor. The covers were cool on her skin, the pillow embraced her head.

Sleep would save her once more.