This place. This horrid place. A weigh station for better destinations or a home. Its design wreaks of morning havoc. Impatience. A fluctuating populace.
Moses parted the water, but here, it never came back to rest. There's a simultaneous joy for what it represents, and a terror for it's cold and barren atmosphere.
Sleepless and sharp. The cold tiled floor as a bed for the night. Passerbys and fellow resters who look still but with minds racing of a soft linen, the end of their journey, a lover's smile. Or simply the wish to be somewhere else rather than this place.
And as my eyes fall heavy, for a moment, I sleep.
And when I wake, it feels like an eternity, but that bodily drain spells 10 minutes. 10 pointless minutes.
Another 10 minutes.
Think of somewhere else.
, think of somewhere else.