A place where you belong. A role. The way things are supposed to be – one is able to settle in, put down roots, abandon a mobile life. Stillness, sense of permanence…
Jon
I stood at the train station and felt the rain drip down from the tip of my nose. I was miserable. And what was funny, was that I was always miserable. Whether it rain or shine. And when I realized that, standing at that dark, cloudy train station, I became more miserable. Miserable in my miserable misery. It sure was the life to live.
I so miss the train stations in Europe, their predictability, individual character, the sense of hope with which they are associated in my memory. Stations are places that invite writing, where temporary anonymity and human companionship live together.
It’s always the same dull routine. Minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to days. I spend most of my time waiting at the train station, watching the trains run north and south, sitting with my back to the wall waiting for mine to arrive. It is in these moments when all of my insecurities come forth. The book in my hand and the headphones in my ears cannot block the traitorous conversations that fill my head like cockroaches trapped in glue traps.
it’s a train station near london, a woman is waiting there to see a man she has flowers in her hand, he’s been away for a while, she can’t wait to see him, he arrives and they kiss. It’s nice, soft, gentle, it’s been too long.
Ryan
Reaching a certain station in life is a goal I hope to achieve soon. I’ve been at several stations before, none of which I particularly cared for. Being at those other stations has taught me more about the station I am looking to reach, and although the next station might not be my last, I know it will be closer to the station at the end of my line.
The train station was full but it mattered not. I couldn’t hear the din of the others over the music blaring in my ears, it was always present it seemed, the music, that was probably because I couldn’t leave home with out it, without something to mask the horrible noises of the world around me. Because when you tune that out you can see the world as a beautiful place, it’s all about what you select.
Train station’s are beautiful. The trees you pass by, the landmarks you see, the people you imagine being crushed on the tracks; its all beautiful. Imagination is the best tool while on a train ride. Keeps you from getting board. People watching is great too. Watching people and their mannerisms is beautiful.
Sarah Ibrahim
Railway station. Free herbs for everyone to pick. Less hazardous to health than picking herbs up from the sides of a major road – but still, not the healthiest place. An Art Gallery, on the other hand feels very at home at the train station – in the former luggage handling or something like this department.
Trains. I always miss them. I’m always cutting it so close, and then I’m left to sit and wait here. Or i just catch them and i end up sitting and catching my breath and trying not to hold anyone else’s eyes as we wait in transit. Moving still.
Lohla
I got off at the train station in Seattle after seeing nothing but trees and cows for hours. The train ride from Boston doesn’t pass through many cities, but it certainly shows the highlights of America’s cattle industry.
Kait
I sat there waiting for the r7, it was too early and too cold. I didn’t want the weekend to end. I was sad but, hey at least I get to sleep next to strangers for the next 40 mins.
jame
More speed, more speed, faster, faster, I say….
IF WE ARE GOING TO SLOW, WE WONT MAKE IT….
HERE COMES THE THE JUMP, BRACE YOURSELVES..
I am at the railroad station to see my boys off to the war. My heart goes with them, as I know they will be lonely and scared. But they are men now. I must walk back to home and pray God will keep them. May God give us the victory! And may it come soon. They are my boys, Lord. All I have. They’re yours.
Mama
he stood there as she boarded the train, tears running down her face. as the train pulled away, something inside him snapped and he started sprinting alongside the car, but to no avail, the train gradually pulled away, leaving him standing alone in a cloud of dust
The tall, stocky girl waited at the subway station, all alone. She had this hopeful look in her eyes, like she was waiting for her prince charming to step off of the subway when the doors opened. Her long, dirty blond hair hung plainly over her shoulders, her nothing-special outfit showed that she didn’t need a hot appearance to impress the one she loved.
she changed the station until she found a song to fit the hot, summer day. the tunes filled her mind as she took in the sun. it was the days like this that made her realize the small things. life is short, people leave and no matter how big of a hole you dig yourself into, you can get out, and you will. so don’t sweat the small stuff. let the people you love know that you love them, listen to music that makes you cry, laugh and fight to be something better. because in the end, we can always be a better version of ourselves, even when you think you have reached your full potential.
samantha
A weord word station as it’s linked with to be stationairy. To be still. And whilst there is a lot of that at the train station, there’s also constant movement as people risen late flee for trains and children bustle around bored. I think of stationairy, of art in a tin, the hundred different lively faces encased in metal and hurtled across the country.
Olly
pulling into the bus station. is he going to be there? is she? is it a train station instead? She’s dressed to the nine’s, waits until nine. He’s dressed in a polo and slacks. It’s running late. How long have they been gone? Where have they been? Has there been a war, a funeral, a wedding, a trip? The station has so many questions
Alison
sitting at the station i await my brothers release. “What has he gotten himself into”, i thought to myself.
Stations are undoubtedly a key part of life. We describe people’s relative positions in life as their ‘station’. We catch the bus to go to work at a station. The entire underground of London is awash with train stations. Can we remain stationery?
Charlie
when the booming clock ticks overbearingly over the sea of travelers and the hopefuls. where the final calls and gold buttoned jackets speak in unison and shortly afterward steam arises indicating departure. where stranger meets stranger, destination to destination.
I’ve been taking the bus to work for the past few days and I get off at Broad St. Station. The first time I took the bus I missed my stop so I was afraid to take it again. I’m getting used to it now — almost like a routine. I like it a lot. I actually have to head there soon to go home.
Ashley
We pulled up to the train station, with tears in both of our eyes as I killed the ignition on our Chevrolet. This would be the last time I would see him alive, and we both knew it. We sat in the car for a while as the silence grew thicker, and as the clock noted the time that was slipping away from our hands. Love is like that. Love is like sand. You can’t hold every bit. It escapes from your grasp.
It was packed at the station, I didn’t know where to look. At first, I just stood and watched as the passengers exited the train, but then I got frantic. He still wasn’t off. Had something happened? Was he not coming? I was scared, but finally, I saw him. He was stood across the platform, looking around in confusion. Tapping on my phone, I put it to my ear and smiled as I heard his voice answer. “Welcome home love…”
PyschoticGoldfish
i just did this one. now i’m doing it again. i don’t have any more ideas regarding this word. i kinda wanted a new one. only 30 seconds have gone by. it’s like the timer is STATIONary. oh. man. i’m super funny. move move move!
Alicia
I guess gas station comes to mind. Actually I just got a vivid recollection of driving down to California with a friend when I was about ten. We stopped at some gas station while we were in northern Cali. I don’t think there was anything special about that instance, I just remember because of this word. Aren’t brains fancy?
crowded
trains
phone booths
tickets
bell
clock
passengers
platform
rails
Gouri
i sat at the station listening to the wails of the cat next door and waiting on the bus to get there. if he was on the bus, i wouldn’t look back. i’d start over. if he could take me with him everything could be different. i wanted to run now more than ever but the sun beat down on my back and kept me glued to the bench. the station became my hell for the next hour and a half.
wednesday adams
agent. train. stationery. envelope. stationary. standing still. gas. where you are when you’re in the services. where my sister’s new husband will go when he steals her away. the radio.
Alicia
Train station. Taking trains and saying goodbye to people that you love. Taking the train from Colorado to Nebraska and back home. Super late. Driving through lots of snow with mom to get to the station.
Maribeth
we stood on the station platform, tired and confused. we hadn’t yet bonded with each other, and someone had spread the rumour that all of the French people hated us. it certainly seemed that way as we pulled our heavy suitcases onto the hot, crowded tube and saw the dirty looks that people were giving us. four days later, we had become a family. and it turns out that the French people didn’t hate us all that much. the station became our home: we were travelers, we were adventurers, we were the closest bunch you ever saw.
lulu
She stopped at the first station and bought a ticket, not caring where she would end up. Her bag was packed too tight to open and she stood outside of the station with her ticket to nowhere between her thumb and forefinger. When she’d exit at the next station, she would have arrived.
msamericano
They manned their stations. Sat in silence and waited for the voice. Begin. #1. #2. #3. #4. One by one can seem like forever.
I waited for the train to leave. I watched her go. I quietly said nothing as the snow drifted down; my hands in my big, deep pockets. Most romantic scenes would have the man chasing after the girl, telling her he’d eventually find her and he would wait for her, with her returning the same sentiments. But I knew that wasn’t the case with us. We’d just broken up and this was the best way to get away from me forever.
we waited, still
fixated on the privet hedges across the other side of the rails
the rain fell in hazy sheets
we heard nothing
A place where you belong. A role. The way things are supposed to be – one is able to settle in, put down roots, abandon a mobile life. Stillness, sense of permanence…
I stood at the train station and felt the rain drip down from the tip of my nose. I was miserable. And what was funny, was that I was always miserable. Whether it rain or shine. And when I realized that, standing at that dark, cloudy train station, I became more miserable. Miserable in my miserable misery. It sure was the life to live.
Before dawn there was spring. Who could acuse him of anything if all that he did was done because of the well known fever of spring.
I stand at the busy station, outdoors, holding my hat on my head against the wind. I wait and wait and wait. Where is he?
I so miss the train stations in Europe, their predictability, individual character, the sense of hope with which they are associated in my memory. Stations are places that invite writing, where temporary anonymity and human companionship live together.
It’s always the same dull routine. Minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to days. I spend most of my time waiting at the train station, watching the trains run north and south, sitting with my back to the wall waiting for mine to arrive. It is in these moments when all of my insecurities come forth. The book in my hand and the headphones in my ears cannot block the traitorous conversations that fill my head like cockroaches trapped in glue traps.
My station is my room. It is my hideout. I like to go there to relax and catch my breathe. I do my best thinking there. It represents me.
it’s a train station near london, a woman is waiting there to see a man she has flowers in her hand, he’s been away for a while, she can’t wait to see him, he arrives and they kiss. It’s nice, soft, gentle, it’s been too long.
Reaching a certain station in life is a goal I hope to achieve soon. I’ve been at several stations before, none of which I particularly cared for. Being at those other stations has taught me more about the station I am looking to reach, and although the next station might not be my last, I know it will be closer to the station at the end of my line.
The train station was full but it mattered not. I couldn’t hear the din of the others over the music blaring in my ears, it was always present it seemed, the music, that was probably because I couldn’t leave home with out it, without something to mask the horrible noises of the world around me. Because when you tune that out you can see the world as a beautiful place, it’s all about what you select.
Train station’s are beautiful. The trees you pass by, the landmarks you see, the people you imagine being crushed on the tracks; its all beautiful. Imagination is the best tool while on a train ride. Keeps you from getting board. People watching is great too. Watching people and their mannerisms is beautiful.
Railway station. Free herbs for everyone to pick. Less hazardous to health than picking herbs up from the sides of a major road – but still, not the healthiest place. An Art Gallery, on the other hand feels very at home at the train station – in the former luggage handling or something like this department.
Trains. I always miss them. I’m always cutting it so close, and then I’m left to sit and wait here. Or i just catch them and i end up sitting and catching my breath and trying not to hold anyone else’s eyes as we wait in transit. Moving still.
I got off at the train station in Seattle after seeing nothing but trees and cows for hours. The train ride from Boston doesn’t pass through many cities, but it certainly shows the highlights of America’s cattle industry.
I sat there waiting for the r7, it was too early and too cold. I didn’t want the weekend to end. I was sad but, hey at least I get to sleep next to strangers for the next 40 mins.
More speed, more speed, faster, faster, I say….
IF WE ARE GOING TO SLOW, WE WONT MAKE IT….
HERE COMES THE THE JUMP, BRACE YOURSELVES..
I am at the railroad station to see my boys off to the war. My heart goes with them, as I know they will be lonely and scared. But they are men now. I must walk back to home and pray God will keep them. May God give us the victory! And may it come soon. They are my boys, Lord. All I have. They’re yours.
he stood there as she boarded the train, tears running down her face. as the train pulled away, something inside him snapped and he started sprinting alongside the car, but to no avail, the train gradually pulled away, leaving him standing alone in a cloud of dust
The tall, stocky girl waited at the subway station, all alone. She had this hopeful look in her eyes, like she was waiting for her prince charming to step off of the subway when the doors opened. Her long, dirty blond hair hung plainly over her shoulders, her nothing-special outfit showed that she didn’t need a hot appearance to impress the one she loved.
she changed the station until she found a song to fit the hot, summer day. the tunes filled her mind as she took in the sun. it was the days like this that made her realize the small things. life is short, people leave and no matter how big of a hole you dig yourself into, you can get out, and you will. so don’t sweat the small stuff. let the people you love know that you love them, listen to music that makes you cry, laugh and fight to be something better. because in the end, we can always be a better version of ourselves, even when you think you have reached your full potential.
A weord word station as it’s linked with to be stationairy. To be still. And whilst there is a lot of that at the train station, there’s also constant movement as people risen late flee for trains and children bustle around bored. I think of stationairy, of art in a tin, the hundred different lively faces encased in metal and hurtled across the country.
pulling into the bus station. is he going to be there? is she? is it a train station instead? She’s dressed to the nine’s, waits until nine. He’s dressed in a polo and slacks. It’s running late. How long have they been gone? Where have they been? Has there been a war, a funeral, a wedding, a trip? The station has so many questions
sitting at the station i await my brothers release. “What has he gotten himself into”, i thought to myself.
es lojito camputa ma torre
ros la caza por que aluija
mesmo collenga portamanto
épire relis le pénombre sous
vos hôtes me figent les loyés
sous-paisent l’odeur bredouillantes
en de gamme chanoine (laisse ma
turbulence de Lancelôt, calmez-
aussi flou jamais d’indolâtre…
riez jupeux anniversire < ronde
1. flegme r^tage, col ère manifeste ;
II. remblaiment souequoise le tsun…
Longue, jonction lecru tant, normes à l'or.e de vod puissante zaquêst
Stations are undoubtedly a key part of life. We describe people’s relative positions in life as their ‘station’. We catch the bus to go to work at a station. The entire underground of London is awash with train stations. Can we remain stationery?
when the booming clock ticks overbearingly over the sea of travelers and the hopefuls. where the final calls and gold buttoned jackets speak in unison and shortly afterward steam arises indicating departure. where stranger meets stranger, destination to destination.
I’ve been taking the bus to work for the past few days and I get off at Broad St. Station. The first time I took the bus I missed my stop so I was afraid to take it again. I’m getting used to it now — almost like a routine. I like it a lot. I actually have to head there soon to go home.
We pulled up to the train station, with tears in both of our eyes as I killed the ignition on our Chevrolet. This would be the last time I would see him alive, and we both knew it. We sat in the car for a while as the silence grew thicker, and as the clock noted the time that was slipping away from our hands. Love is like that. Love is like sand. You can’t hold every bit. It escapes from your grasp.
It was packed at the station, I didn’t know where to look. At first, I just stood and watched as the passengers exited the train, but then I got frantic. He still wasn’t off. Had something happened? Was he not coming? I was scared, but finally, I saw him. He was stood across the platform, looking around in confusion. Tapping on my phone, I put it to my ear and smiled as I heard his voice answer. “Welcome home love…”
i just did this one. now i’m doing it again. i don’t have any more ideas regarding this word. i kinda wanted a new one. only 30 seconds have gone by. it’s like the timer is STATIONary. oh. man. i’m super funny. move move move!
I guess gas station comes to mind. Actually I just got a vivid recollection of driving down to California with a friend when I was about ten. We stopped at some gas station while we were in northern Cali. I don’t think there was anything special about that instance, I just remember because of this word. Aren’t brains fancy?
crowded
trains
phone booths
tickets
bell
clock
passengers
platform
rails
i sat at the station listening to the wails of the cat next door and waiting on the bus to get there. if he was on the bus, i wouldn’t look back. i’d start over. if he could take me with him everything could be different. i wanted to run now more than ever but the sun beat down on my back and kept me glued to the bench. the station became my hell for the next hour and a half.
agent. train. stationery. envelope. stationary. standing still. gas. where you are when you’re in the services. where my sister’s new husband will go when he steals her away. the radio.
Train station. Taking trains and saying goodbye to people that you love. Taking the train from Colorado to Nebraska and back home. Super late. Driving through lots of snow with mom to get to the station.
we stood on the station platform, tired and confused. we hadn’t yet bonded with each other, and someone had spread the rumour that all of the French people hated us. it certainly seemed that way as we pulled our heavy suitcases onto the hot, crowded tube and saw the dirty looks that people were giving us. four days later, we had become a family. and it turns out that the French people didn’t hate us all that much. the station became our home: we were travelers, we were adventurers, we were the closest bunch you ever saw.
She stopped at the first station and bought a ticket, not caring where she would end up. Her bag was packed too tight to open and she stood outside of the station with her ticket to nowhere between her thumb and forefinger. When she’d exit at the next station, she would have arrived.
They manned their stations. Sat in silence and waited for the voice. Begin. #1. #2. #3. #4. One by one can seem like forever.
I waited for the train to leave. I watched her go. I quietly said nothing as the snow drifted down; my hands in my big, deep pockets. Most romantic scenes would have the man chasing after the girl, telling her he’d eventually find her and he would wait for her, with her returning the same sentiments. But I knew that wasn’t the case with us. We’d just broken up and this was the best way to get away from me forever.