The rails on the tracks mimic the heartbeat.
The delays. The waiting. The changes. The tedium.
The world passing by in a blink of an eye. Mist covered moors hidden from the world of the city dweller. The aviary trying to match speed. Coasting alongside.
The fiery death awaiting at every bump. The embarrassment of discovery. The reserved seat; taken!
The quiet politeness as you simply walk past. No fuss.
The tension. Cut with a knife. They all have places to be. Most are late. Just like the train on which they're hurtling toward their destination.
I hate it. I love it. Frustratingly romantic.