Stream of Consciousness

The station looked abandoned. It felt like she had stepped into the vacuum between two maddening worlds. Into the deafening chaos of silence. Like a parallel universe where trains had grown old and tired. It wasn't her destination. She had stepped onto the platform as if in a trance. Its desertion seemed complete. Trains came and went but no one came out or went in. As she stared into an indifferent sunset, she felt euphoric all of a sudden and then at the same time felt a sense of dread fill her. She felt freedom in its purest sense and then suddenly she felt helplessly trapped. 

She had been here before but she was not alone then. This person, she had once held very dear and they had laughed together marveling at how surreal this station felt. She hadn't felt so overwhelmed then. She had not felt so solitary, so alone. Yet now it was a distant memory, parched and faded, as unreal and illusory as this place itself.  She felt wrapped in forsakenness. She hadn't been forgiven for the sins she did not commit. She felt herself melting into a strange oblivion. 

Then a train came and the doors opened. Subconsciously she waited for them to close for what seemed like ages. But they didn't. The train just stood there like her. As if waiting for her to come in. It shook her out to the present, to the logic of strategic locations and utility, to the futility of philosophizing the barrenness and abandon of the place. In that moment she felt enormously foolish for romanticizing her self pity. She had a sudden urge to feel common and inconsequential, to disappear in the crowd. She smiled and looked back at the station. and stepped into the train. The doors closed shortly afterwards and the train resumed its journey. The train rumbled and announcements were made, to which she paid no attention. Her mind was now occupied with cheese, mushrooms and potatoes and the best recipe she could arrange for dinner.