The train ride to mystery.

    I sit on the train mesmerized by the faces of history across from me.

Souls that have been roaming the world for years yet somehow in that momentum we come together to commit to traveling to the future on the train.  

As the minutes pass, I imagine their life story.

Their bodies sit still on the seats as I write narratives of their lives through their bland facial expressions. They are analyzed by the human detective across from them.

A person gets off the seat to continue their life without my viewing and a new person sits down to take their spot of examination.

Perhaps later on in life you end up meeting again, or they become one of those success stories, but you end up forgetting them because they were not that 'someone' when you first saw them.

Our bodies are the physical products of our life - the wrinkles, the dryness, the dirt, all happened and are exemplified.

As they glare out the window, I glare at them.

I wonder what they're thinking about.

I wonder why we haven't spoken yet.

Instead we remain awkwardly silent even though we are taking up the same space.

I sit still in my chair and analyze the person people don't look at because they are "just another person in this humongous world."

To me everyone with a voice is someone who shouldn't go about ignored.
To me everyone is a storyteller, and their own 1st person narrator.

To me everyone is a celebrity that I want to know about.