12:09 PM

Everyone has a story. But the lonely and silent types intrigue me the most. They make me become an author for just a moment. They make my mind start wandering. Where have they been and where are they heading off to now? It's like writing a novel without actually having to write down any words. I might be completely wrong about them, but that doesn't matter, because they're whoever I’d like them to be. Whenever I'm imagining what other people's stories are, I can't help but to wonder if people ever make up stories about me too.

 

The girl, sitting across from us, fascinated me for some reason. I couldn't come up with a clear story for her. I couldn't tell what she was feeling or where she was going. All I could see was that she was looking outside for the longest time. Maybe she took the train to look at the trees flying by, to calm herself down. Maybe that's not it at all. I took a picture of her, so I could wonder about her story a bit longer. Until the next time I'll see her, this is the only thing I'll remember her for.

Forever lost in thought.

Done