I can remember the sparkle of your reflection even now; but the coldness of your words often makes me sad. Then I ask myself, why were you so cruel to me? However, it is too late in the year to care just now, as there seems to be a lack of colour in my life, it’s like that empty feeling when looking at a worn-out photograph. Yesterday, I was waiting for the rain to pass, but it didn’t, not for a long time. Sometimes when I am waiting, like today outside the railway station, standing there alone in the street expecting, hoping, for a better day, a better life. I like to imagine that I am waiting for you – why is it that I am always waiting for you? Inside the station there is a room, made especially for waiting; but I never go there just in case it appears that I am waiting.
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