There was a man

There was a man on the train, a passenger only, and yet, as he moved up the carriage, he seemed to possess the space around him, as if he lived on the train, and he was simply walking through his home.

Made me think some people saunter through life like this.
Made me wonder how they can feel so comfortable in so many environments.
Made me speculate whether it is a conscious power game, or, whether they do feel that much in command of the space they happen to inhabit.

This man made me feel like a squatter in his habitation, an interloper on his sofa, eating his food and praying not to be spotted.

Glass Fortress

I know what they call you.
I guess what I see is as they say, and yet, I cannot believe that is all you are.

You stare into the middle distance as if there lies a stage on which silent actors perform a slow, lullaby, play, a play that you have seen many times before, a play that has no ending, it doesn't end.

Mostly you sit as if you wish to hide, so that no-one can see you, even though, if they choose to, everyone can see you. This is awkward, but once you are watching the play, this seems not to bother you.

You are alone. Always alone. And you draw silence round your shoulders like a blanket. But you must talk, you must interact, for it is you that buys the drinks, you that pays.

I feel sorrow and sadness when I see you, pity and compassion co-mingled. Yet, as the empty glasses become your see-through fortress, I do not come near you. I cannot bring myself to take away your fortress. Part of me fears you and part of me questions that fear - so I busy myself, other jobs, other glasses, other people.

I want to know why you are here and why sorrow looms over you. I wonder who you have been in the past. I wonder who you know. I wonder where you are just before you are here and where you go when you leave. But all from a distance, from afar.

I know what they call you, but I can't let that be all you are.
And I wonder why I can't and if that says more about me than you.