The ruckus of the train station,
With hordes of people passing by,
to someplace or to someone waiting for them,
while I do not have a place to go tonight.
The bickering of the passing people,
The faint announcements over the mic,
the screeching brakes of the stopping train,
and the thunderous roar of the train passing by.
I lie on the cold steel chair,
tapping my feet with apparent impatience,
hunched over with fingers intertwined,
As if lost in deep thought.
Everyone has something to grab onto,
be it someone\'s hand or the handle of a suitcase,
or the excitement of awaiting holidays,
but I only have the cold air,
and the overwhelming sense of loneliness,
to be with me tonight.
As the moon peaks and takes the center stage,
on the night\'s black canvas,
the crowd thins and the voices subdue,
But I am still here,
On the same cold chair,
hunched over,
fingers intertwining,
As if lost in deep thought.