station is where I go every school days. It’s called a train station. There are many types of station. There is a water station, a station wagon, a car station, a radio station. I am not sure about a car station.
Neko Macaraeg
I sat at the station. Cold and alone, but I was content. He had just left, but I knew he would return. Without him there was a part of me missing, he took it with him so he could remember me. As I watched the train finally disappear into the hills, I decided I should leave. He’d be back soon enough, and until then I’ll remember the times we have had and the ones we are yet to experience.
I love mrt stations because they are where people meet and go and come together. and I will always remember the sticky heat how I’m always perspiring deep quick fast swift rivulets down my spine while waiting for the train and then when the doors open and I stalk inside i always feel self-conscious of the people looking at how sweaty i am and i wonder if they would just avert their eyes, avert their eyes.
Kar Min
I went to the station to find a friend but he wasn’t there. He’s never there. Just blank faces surrounding me. Behind every pillar. No one looking to make a connection with anything other than a train. It’s disgusting. I want people.
I want connection.
I want heart.
Tahlia
I remember waiting at the bus station all the time during college. A lot of the time I was either too early, or too late. I was normally too late if I had to make it to an early class, and too early when it was an afternoon class. Funny how that worked out (or DIDN’T work out). In a way I’m going to miss taking the bus. It was kind of a defining part of my undergrad experience. On the other hand, I won’t have to rely on it anymore. It did save a lot of money, though.
Alisha
There I was, standing ramrod straight at the station. The clocks on the wall ticks and tacks, two hours and still no Miguel. Miguel, his red hair and dark skin. Miguel, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh
a bus station or a train station? Station is part of stationary, but that’s the last thing that a station is. What is a station, a place to meet, to converge to diverge. Stationary Stationery. Write me from the train station.
well there once was this station and it was in the one from harry potter books , so like i went there with harry potter so we can go through the wall to go to hogwarts, but yeah, there was people there so we had to wait until they left so we could one by one go into the wall, it was called station 9 and three quarters, looked like i was gonna hit the wall but i really went through to hogwarts
Flavion Fernandes
This reminds me of train stations. The ones I used to ride every morning on the way to school. I’ve always loved them. Especially subway stations. I just think that they’re so romantic. One day, I will write a story occurring inside a train station. It will be brilliant!
allaboutalice
train station bus station. It’s amazing that such a moving placing can be called so stationary. Stationery I know a song called Stationary Stationery. Station, a place to meet to convene I’m not sure if that is spelt right. Station station station station station.
alison
harry potter, platform 9 3/4, trains, travelling, baggage, brick walls, lots of steam, running late, I don’t want to miss the train
libby
Down by the station, that’s where we sit.
The kids of a nation, trapped by the oppression of politics.
And when we stand, to catch that train.
We’re forced down, by the happiness we feign.
Okay. Right now probably the last thing on my mind. Cause I really have to finish my studies.. So, yeah. Thinking of the STATION makes me remember my other weekly responsibilities, gotta time-manage…
Sophia
I’m waiting there, still. Wearing that yellow frock and golden shoes. A little dusty now. A decade of dust and hopes. No, I haven’t grown, haven’t got on a train, haven’t returned. I look for you on every train that stops or passes by.
They never felt safe. It was their only home… only refuge. Every time they think of something, they try to forget it by going to this place. With their friends who understood them, it was like heaven on hell.
i decided to visit the local train station yesterday. the wind’s gust almost kept me off my feet as i strolled along and i felt as if i was intangible. i didn’t know where i was going or why, but i just felt as if the train tracks were leading me off in the distance for a reason .. a reason i couldn’t explain.
Mya
A lot of people were waiting for the train. Each of them with their own luggage, with their own problems. All of them were waiting for the salvation of their lifetime. It’s their only chance; they should not miss that train. Thus, they were all gathered in this station. A station for everyone.
Janina
The bus station was lonely. Wind blowing everywhere. Old newspapers moving. I shouldn’t have ran I thought. But I had to. I tighten my jacket tighter. It`s chilly today.
Kierra
the train station was full this time. i was so used to being one of the few standing on the platform. there were so many memories here, memories of independence, memories of exhaustion. it was a time i missed, a time long gone. i hoped it would come again.
Bee
There I was, outside the train station. Would I ever come back? That was what I had to consider before I got to my destination. I planned to spend the trip mulling it over, weighing the pros and cons, making a decision.
Stefanie
He met her at the station. She was getting off the train, her long tan coat moving out behind her like it was alive. He only caught slight features, you know… only things he would later recall as fuzzy and unimportant.
Heathyr Brockett
The town is small. The train station and a general store is all that is left from when the town thrived so many years ago. I sit on a bench at the train station and watch. The train rambles by but does not stop. I cry.
Down by the station, that’s where we sit.
The kids of a nation, trapped by the oppression of politics.
And when we stand, to catch that train.
We’re forced down, by the happiness we feign.
chris
Industrially large over majestic proportions; a perfect mix of the smooth old pearly white marble and the modest sleek coffee culture. It’s not a labyrinth of rail roads where journeys begin, it’s your destination.
Liam
The station was cold. The murderer sat and thought about the consequences at hand at felt no remorse toward the subject. The probable newly orphaned kids would make it fine, maybe even better without such a detriment. How sad that he had to live with this blood on his hands. The only question of right was his place as their god.
Still it’s wonderous to think that they’re really gone. He cleans his blade with a steady grip and looks again at the station walls. The daily grind that commences daily here
joey
I went to the station to pick my friends who were coming from tel aviv, Israel. One had a lot of money and wore a large bell hat. Other was just plain gay. I like peope from Tel Aviv , they are rich and measly. Thy remind me of my own selfish greedy self. You can lie at the station and not care about Israelis, or you can suck my face polly. Wazza!
yousuf
Me & you…a long time ago..a goodbye, a tear…no regrets, no sorrows..
Gg
While I was waiting at the station, I wondered what would happen if the train turned into a giant Cape cobra and began eating people on the platform one by one. Kind of playing with them before finally swallowing each one down and disappearing into the gaping, black vagina of the tunnel.
Andrew Smith
i walked to the station with my baggage in hand and shed a tear as i thought of the man that i’d be leaving behind. i hoped that one day when i returned he would remember me and forgive me for what i’d done. but for now, i tried not to think of that and pushed on in the futile hope that maybe i’d be able to fix it before it was too late..
verity johanna
train stations are the main center of travel. this was more so the case in the past when airports did not exist. I have been to many stations. it is also a word to describe radio broadcasts
Tommy
Trains. That’s all you can think of when someone says station. Like back in the day when you were carefree, and your brother would play with Thomas the Tank Engine toys, and he wasn’t sad, and wasn’t hurting himself, and wasn’t-
Wasn’t lying in a grave somewhere, forever young; prematurely dead.
when I think of station the other word that pops into mind is journey. No not a radio station or the band Journey….but a train station. I picture a busy station with a lot of people….I am interacting with some…not others…there are some who look familiar and some whom I do not know. I know that I’ll probably get to know them later on…or not. I picture many of us getting on the next train but maybe a few stick around at the station…mingling…or sitting in silence…waiting because they have a sense that the train that has just arrived isn’t inn fact the one that they need to be on. And then….on the train…with those familiar and not so familiar we sit down (or maybe even move around) spend time with some…not others…some we are just aware of…quietly riding that train with us…wondering what their role will be later…and all the while…I wonder…who is the conductor driving this crazy yet peaceful at times train…
“You mean, all the little “artifacts” she has around her work area?”
“Yes, that is what I mean. She certainly wants to create some kind of impression for her clients. I don’t know if they are getting what she intended, though!”
Stations are places where people leave. Where people start anew. Where people leave her, and leave everything she’s done, and just-
Where people go to never come back.
Kat
Trains pass in and out. And in and out. And in and out. She wonders if anyone else thinks about this as much as she does. Probably not. No one’s as weird as her; as morbid; as completely fucked up in the head, really.
It takes a certain talent to be a crazy as she is. As crazy to hang out at the tube. To hang out with trains.
Demelza
While waiting at the station I began to wonder what it would be like if the train suddenly turned into an enormous Cape cobra and started eating the people on hte platform one by one. Kind of toying with them at first and then when it had had it’s fun, disappearing into the gaping black vagina of the tunnel.
Andrew Smith
train comes and goes sometimes late sometimes early on time. there are so many people on the station of many region some going to there home town some for adventure to other exotic places.
priyanshi Bhargava
within the station, I find my self. I look for the things, with action ( I hold my presence and self) and with the eyes to find,
waz this?:P
station is where I go every school days. It’s called a train station. There are many types of station. There is a water station, a station wagon, a car station, a radio station. I am not sure about a car station.
I sat at the station. Cold and alone, but I was content. He had just left, but I knew he would return. Without him there was a part of me missing, he took it with him so he could remember me. As I watched the train finally disappear into the hills, I decided I should leave. He’d be back soon enough, and until then I’ll remember the times we have had and the ones we are yet to experience.
I love mrt stations because they are where people meet and go and come together. and I will always remember the sticky heat how I’m always perspiring deep quick fast swift rivulets down my spine while waiting for the train and then when the doors open and I stalk inside i always feel self-conscious of the people looking at how sweaty i am and i wonder if they would just avert their eyes, avert their eyes.
I went to the station to find a friend but he wasn’t there. He’s never there. Just blank faces surrounding me. Behind every pillar. No one looking to make a connection with anything other than a train. It’s disgusting. I want people.
I want connection.
I want heart.
I remember waiting at the bus station all the time during college. A lot of the time I was either too early, or too late. I was normally too late if I had to make it to an early class, and too early when it was an afternoon class. Funny how that worked out (or DIDN’T work out). In a way I’m going to miss taking the bus. It was kind of a defining part of my undergrad experience. On the other hand, I won’t have to rely on it anymore. It did save a lot of money, though.
There I was, standing ramrod straight at the station. The clocks on the wall ticks and tacks, two hours and still no Miguel. Miguel, his red hair and dark skin. Miguel, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh
a bus station or a train station? Station is part of stationary, but that’s the last thing that a station is. What is a station, a place to meet, to converge to diverge. Stationary Stationery. Write me from the train station.
well there once was this station and it was in the one from harry potter books , so like i went there with harry potter so we can go through the wall to go to hogwarts, but yeah, there was people there so we had to wait until they left so we could one by one go into the wall, it was called station 9 and three quarters, looked like i was gonna hit the wall but i really went through to hogwarts
This reminds me of train stations. The ones I used to ride every morning on the way to school. I’ve always loved them. Especially subway stations. I just think that they’re so romantic. One day, I will write a story occurring inside a train station. It will be brilliant!
train station bus station. It’s amazing that such a moving placing can be called so stationary. Stationery I know a song called Stationary Stationery. Station, a place to meet to convene I’m not sure if that is spelt right. Station station station station station.
harry potter, platform 9 3/4, trains, travelling, baggage, brick walls, lots of steam, running late, I don’t want to miss the train
Down by the station, that’s where we sit.
The kids of a nation, trapped by the oppression of politics.
And when we stand, to catch that train.
We’re forced down, by the happiness we feign.
Okay. Right now probably the last thing on my mind. Cause I really have to finish my studies.. So, yeah. Thinking of the STATION makes me remember my other weekly responsibilities, gotta time-manage…
I’m waiting there, still. Wearing that yellow frock and golden shoes. A little dusty now. A decade of dust and hopes. No, I haven’t grown, haven’t got on a train, haven’t returned. I look for you on every train that stops or passes by.
They never felt safe. It was their only home… only refuge. Every time they think of something, they try to forget it by going to this place. With their friends who understood them, it was like heaven on hell.
i decided to visit the local train station yesterday. the wind’s gust almost kept me off my feet as i strolled along and i felt as if i was intangible. i didn’t know where i was going or why, but i just felt as if the train tracks were leading me off in the distance for a reason .. a reason i couldn’t explain.
A lot of people were waiting for the train. Each of them with their own luggage, with their own problems. All of them were waiting for the salvation of their lifetime. It’s their only chance; they should not miss that train. Thus, they were all gathered in this station. A station for everyone.
The bus station was lonely. Wind blowing everywhere. Old newspapers moving. I shouldn’t have ran I thought. But I had to. I tighten my jacket tighter. It`s chilly today.
the train station was full this time. i was so used to being one of the few standing on the platform. there were so many memories here, memories of independence, memories of exhaustion. it was a time i missed, a time long gone. i hoped it would come again.
There I was, outside the train station. Would I ever come back? That was what I had to consider before I got to my destination. I planned to spend the trip mulling it over, weighing the pros and cons, making a decision.
He met her at the station. She was getting off the train, her long tan coat moving out behind her like it was alive. He only caught slight features, you know… only things he would later recall as fuzzy and unimportant.
The town is small. The train station and a general store is all that is left from when the town thrived so many years ago. I sit on a bench at the train station and watch. The train rambles by but does not stop. I cry.
Down by the station, that’s where we sit.
The kids of a nation, trapped by the oppression of politics.
And when we stand, to catch that train.
We’re forced down, by the happiness we feign.
Industrially large over majestic proportions; a perfect mix of the smooth old pearly white marble and the modest sleek coffee culture. It’s not a labyrinth of rail roads where journeys begin, it’s your destination.
The station was cold. The murderer sat and thought about the consequences at hand at felt no remorse toward the subject. The probable newly orphaned kids would make it fine, maybe even better without such a detriment. How sad that he had to live with this blood on his hands. The only question of right was his place as their god.
Still it’s wonderous to think that they’re really gone. He cleans his blade with a steady grip and looks again at the station walls. The daily grind that commences daily here
I went to the station to pick my friends who were coming from tel aviv, Israel. One had a lot of money and wore a large bell hat. Other was just plain gay. I like peope from Tel Aviv , they are rich and measly. Thy remind me of my own selfish greedy self. You can lie at the station and not care about Israelis, or you can suck my face polly. Wazza!
Me & you…a long time ago..a goodbye, a tear…no regrets, no sorrows..
While I was waiting at the station, I wondered what would happen if the train turned into a giant Cape cobra and began eating people on the platform one by one. Kind of playing with them before finally swallowing each one down and disappearing into the gaping, black vagina of the tunnel.
i walked to the station with my baggage in hand and shed a tear as i thought of the man that i’d be leaving behind. i hoped that one day when i returned he would remember me and forgive me for what i’d done. but for now, i tried not to think of that and pushed on in the futile hope that maybe i’d be able to fix it before it was too late..
train stations are the main center of travel. this was more so the case in the past when airports did not exist. I have been to many stations. it is also a word to describe radio broadcasts
Trains. That’s all you can think of when someone says station. Like back in the day when you were carefree, and your brother would play with Thomas the Tank Engine toys, and he wasn’t sad, and wasn’t hurting himself, and wasn’t-
Wasn’t lying in a grave somewhere, forever young; prematurely dead.
when I think of station the other word that pops into mind is journey. No not a radio station or the band Journey….but a train station. I picture a busy station with a lot of people….I am interacting with some…not others…there are some who look familiar and some whom I do not know. I know that I’ll probably get to know them later on…or not. I picture many of us getting on the next train but maybe a few stick around at the station…mingling…or sitting in silence…waiting because they have a sense that the train that has just arrived isn’t inn fact the one that they need to be on. And then….on the train…with those familiar and not so familiar we sit down (or maybe even move around) spend time with some…not others…some we are just aware of…quietly riding that train with us…wondering what their role will be later…and all the while…I wonder…who is the conductor driving this crazy yet peaceful at times train…
“Did you see her station?”
“You mean, all the little “artifacts” she has around her work area?”
“Yes, that is what I mean. She certainly wants to create some kind of impression for her clients. I don’t know if they are getting what she intended, though!”
Stations are places where people leave. Where people start anew. Where people leave her, and leave everything she’s done, and just-
Where people go to never come back.
Trains pass in and out. And in and out. And in and out. She wonders if anyone else thinks about this as much as she does. Probably not. No one’s as weird as her; as morbid; as completely fucked up in the head, really.
It takes a certain talent to be a crazy as she is. As crazy to hang out at the tube. To hang out with trains.
While waiting at the station I began to wonder what it would be like if the train suddenly turned into an enormous Cape cobra and started eating the people on hte platform one by one. Kind of toying with them at first and then when it had had it’s fun, disappearing into the gaping black vagina of the tunnel.
train comes and goes sometimes late sometimes early on time. there are so many people on the station of many region some going to there home town some for adventure to other exotic places.
within the station, I find my self. I look for the things, with action ( I hold my presence and self) and with the eyes to find,
the desirious truth that binds my being
The girl went to the station to pick up her boyfriend. They hadn´t seen each other for ages. The girl wore her favourite dress.