illusion, decrepit, stare, monotony

most mornings i hate catching the train. the monotony of the rocking, of the people, of the sneezing, of the sound. more than anything, i hate that it will be another 9 hours until im back there, on my way home.

sometimes, i hate seeing the same people; the seedy ones, the ones that stare too long, or whose music is too loud. but sometimes i like the familiar faces. the girl at blackburn with the soft, brown hair. the man at box hill, decrepit, smiling, silent. the boy at glenferrie that reminds me of someone else.

the illusion. same style of clothes, same books, same colour-hair.

only another six stations to go. i breathe deeply and text D.

'sorry, running late.. stupid train.'