He knew nothing of love and she, too much. It often crossed her mind that one day she'd once again experience that incomprehensible excitement that she had come to despise. Other than that, she just felt painstakingly miserable. Half the time she didn't even know why.

Bearded men stood in the train doorways and laughed off their insecurity. Leaned against seats, wet umbrellas dripped dry and were forgotten once the rain stopped. She watched a foreign couple who sat entwined, legs and arms, and muttered about passers by when the train came to a stop. The sound of it moving back and forth before gaining momentum rose over their small talk, as she fiddled with the ring on her finger. She looked up as the open window trapped a new sound on it’s slant, and let it escape again from the confinement of the carriage. The train rattled something awful but after a while, it beccame subtle background noise. Finally, she chose a seat on the crowded train. The air was humid and sticky, much to her dismay. Glad to be sitting down however, as she had noticed how much effort it took her to walk across platforms and up stairs. Another morning full of sighs and time spent wishing she could once again be in bed. The only place she ever felt happy was when she dreamed. It seemed foolish that one could be so preoccupied with the notion of dreaming.

The train was slowly coming to a halt, it seemed there was some sort of delay. Nothing out of the usual. Patiently, the train carriage sat in silence, awaiting a message over the loudspeaker. She was looking down at her shoes, and began the familiar reaction to the crippling anxiety she felt in certain uncomfortable situations- rolling her ankles and listening out for the cracking of her bones. It was so awfully quiet that she worried if the other commuters may hear. Funnily enough even her reaction to situations that provoked nervousness did just that, like a big cycle. She sighed. How pointless the pattern of her thoughts could be.