my observation
...reeps into the man’s face as he watches the boy marvel at the art. I enjoy people watching. I speak to no one, I only observe everyone, and wonder about their lives. What did the man with the tattoo study in school? I hope he is some kind of artist. What kind of music does he listen to? I imagine that we listen to many of the same songs. He looks too young to have children, but does he plan to? The way he humors and smiles at the boy, I hope he does. I imagine he has younger siblings who adore their big brother. In my mind I explore the possibilities and I make up answers to my own questions. Then I move on to others, to the people who just sit alone and keep to themselves. They fascinate me the most, because their outward appearances give me so little insight into their lives. They may seem dull and anonymous to most and go unnoticed by others on the train, but I know that each person, like myself, has their story. Each person has a favorite song, a best friend, and a nickname, and each person is going somewhere. Each person has probably fallen in love, each has probably had their heart broken, and without question, each person has experienced both pain and pleasure, both failure and success. Too often we caught up in the drama of our own lives, which feels to us like the only thing that ma...