shadowhare
Another train station. We’re exhausted but ecstatic. This time, we’re off to Paris. Traveling by train is a wonderful experience, even if it’s also a huge energy-drainer. See, all of the world’s interesting people travel by train. You can just sit there for hours and stare at them. The eccentric, intelligent, lost, artistic, depressed, lonely, beautiful, bored, intrigued, naive, sophisticated. Over-analyzing, listening, dreaming, plotting, reading, sketching, staring.
When we first arrived at the train station in Paris, I had no idea what to do with myself. This, this was ri-fucking-diculously exciting. All of the lovely French people, speaking that wonderful language...I thought I was going to faint.
No-one ever goes to the corner unless they have done something wrong. Mum keeps a toy clock there, a little plastic blue one. When you are in trouble, Mum turns the dial so that a loud alarm goes off after five minutes. I do not like the corner. Last time I was sent there, it was because I refused to share my ViewMaster with my sister. Mum does not like it when I do not share. She says that I will have no friends when I am older if I do not learn to share when I am young. I do not like it when she says that, it scares me. I do not want to be lonely when I am older.
A brush, some paper. Pouring out feelings. You shouldn't really think when painting, it'll mess up your entire project. Pull out thoughts and feelings from the deep realms of your cranium. Place them on the paper (or other surface) using only your hands and the brush that they're holding.
Admire or despise your work.
The end.