In here like an ant I rest, until the next stop, meters below the ground, I travel looking at them who in turn look back to me. No one to talk to, no one to smile to. An individualistic life, a being, a breeding host, traveling together and apart, at the same time.

Alligned London Buses on red lights.

I ask myself whether this is normal, or maybe if it is the way it should be. I try to make contact, but I fail for a dream it remains. I alienate myself through music, the same music they play whilst coldly looking back at me, as if mankind does not need to communicate anymore. So in silence I observe and write.

Sitting on a cold Bench to rest from the winter winds.

Westminister street

Uncovering the suns’ rays

Then a smile from an elderly person, as warm as the suns’ rays in August, a smile that brings hope, that not all is lost.