#71 South Lake City Terminal
What a scenery.
The sunset pallet of purples and reds from a far
captured from a modern architectural building filled with bright white lights.
Vibrations of trains passing by, the lively crowd,
busking old man, buses horns, smell of waffle,
South Lake City Terminal.
So much to do here but all we did was to sit on a bench side by side
chatting on how shitty our day had been.
Sometimes peeking at ETA display, sometimes at each other.
One afternoon in the South Lake City Terminal.
I hopped into one of the train cars, standing
holding bag in one hand and a cake in another.
I was eager, couldn't wait for my stop,
I didn't care much of the strenuous weight,
but the distance, the distance was a rack.
Then I went back from an unforgettable birthday surprise
oblivious to the impending disaster,
design by its own designer.
That's a story for another day.
While waiting for your arrival in an evening of February
I would just stand by the side of the walkway.
Leaning against the railings, I watched people passing by
my amusement: the ongoing story of random people at that particular time.
Moods, behavior, quirks etc.
with the scores composed by the busking old man,
South Lake City Terminal, a theater for those who observes.
And a meeting place for those who waits.
You arrived, we waved at each other, we bought tickets, we sat at our bench, and that was it.
South Lake City Terminal, a place where departure happens,
between a couple that go on their own ways.
Yesterday I braved myself to sit on the same bench of course, with someone I care devotedly.
Though not much of it did change but it was different.
I found hope at the walkways, in the lyrics of old man's busking,
in the overflowing white lights, as well as the soft twilight,
printed on the tickets, and on the rail tracks too.
With the right person, everything is a hope.
South Lake City Terminal, don't you think the play should be a little bit longer?
The sunset pallet of purples and reds from a far
captured from a modern architectural building filled with bright white lights.
Vibrations of trains passing by, the lively crowd,
busking old man, buses horns, smell of waffle,
South Lake City Terminal.
So much to do here but all we did was to sit on a bench side by side
chatting on how shitty our day had been.
Sometimes peeking at ETA display, sometimes at each other.
One afternoon in the South Lake City Terminal.
I hopped into one of the train cars, standing
holding bag in one hand and a cake in another.
I was eager, couldn't wait for my stop,
I didn't care much of the strenuous weight,
but the distance, the distance was a rack.
Then I went back from an unforgettable birthday surprise
oblivious to the impending disaster,
design by its own designer.
That's a story for another day.
While waiting for your arrival in an evening of February
I would just stand by the side of the walkway.
Leaning against the railings, I watched people passing by
my amusement: the ongoing story of random people at that particular time.
Moods, behavior, quirks etc.
with the scores composed by the busking old man,
South Lake City Terminal, a theater for those who observes.
And a meeting place for those who waits.
You arrived, we waved at each other, we bought tickets, we sat at our bench, and that was it.
South Lake City Terminal, a place where departure happens,
between a couple that go on their own ways.
Yesterday I braved myself to sit on the same bench of course, with someone I care devotedly.
Though not much of it did change but it was different.
I found hope at the walkways, in the lyrics of old man's busking,
in the overflowing white lights, as well as the soft twilight,
printed on the tickets, and on the rail tracks too.
With the right person, everything is a hope.
South Lake City Terminal, don't you think the play should be a little bit longer?