You stand on the train platform, head slightly tilted to catch sight of the approaching train. The train pulls in. A rush of wind pummets your face. You squint.

The windows of the train pass by in a rapid blur, fast at first but gradually slowing. Reflected in the glass: multitudes of strange, yet strangely familiar, faces. You see.

The train doors slide open with a mechanical whirr. Feets shuffle. The faces converge. You blend in with the crowd. Step into the train. The train is crowded- mutitudes of strange, yet strangely familiar, commuters. Among them, you stand.

With another whirr, the train begins to move. Picks up speed. Pulls away from the station. The commuters begin their ritual. Some nod to sleep. Some listen to iPods. Some read the papers. Others, a novel. Different faces, different lives. Strangely familiar, strangely similar rituals. You watch.

Before you, a bright orange row of seats. "Please give up your seat" a sticker reads (one woman, below it, sleeps). The faces you see are by turns inscrutable, bored, animated. Different expressions, different destinations, same train. Strange, yet strangely familiar, faces. What do they share? You wonder.

Who's a mother? Who's a lawyer? Who's a student rushing to school? Who's a father? Who's an executive? Who's a retiree with nowhere to go? Who's a lover? Who's a secretary? Who's a salesman wishing for more?

You remember. You remember.

You remember your childhood dreams. Of sailboats, the house by the sea. Of astronauts, that journey to the moon. Of planes, soaring in the sky. Of detectives, the diamond heist case. Of firemen, brave heroic acts.

Simple dreams. You remember.

The PA system blares. The sepulchral voice informs you that the next stop nears. Breaks your reverie. You mentally shake yourself. Scan the faces once more. Mother, lawyer, student, father, executive, retiree, lover, secretary, salesman. How many dreams have fallen by the wayside? How many forgotten? How many suddenly remembered, in a crowded train one Monday morning?

You remember.

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

- Christina Rossetti

Filed under: Personal, Musings