I watch the trains go byThe sky takes on a purple haze that seems unique to London

As I slowly fall asleep,I try to imagine my father doing the same thing, decades agoI am lying in the house he grew up in, in the same bed,with the same blanket

I imagine living in Londoneating dinner at the little table where you have to tuckyour elbows inthen going upstairs to bed and looking at the trainsWould I enjoy it as much?Would I even consider myself lucky?

I wake up and look out the windowThe sun is glaring in my face even though it is early morningI watch the trains going by, the same ones as last night

The trains feel as if they are right next to youclose enough that you can watch the people going pastas the trains follow their everyday routine

The people on the trains never notice youBut you can see everything they do for those brief secondsbefore they disappear