Tram

Silence is being interrupted by loud raping from earphones of kid standing nearby and noisy moves of tram doors. After exhausting day I am standing vaguely, holding to bar and looking at my reflection in window. Even my shadow is looking poorly. My shoulders are shrugged from my tiredness.

I begin with my favourite activity when I am communing home. I am browsing through faces of passengers, thinking what is on their minds, guessing their jobs and speculate about what kind of day they have been through. I am judging them by their clothes, looking at their dirty shoes or bags. You can always say what kind of life is person leading by the state of those two things.  Sometimes I find myself reading their newspapers, books, e-readers, horoscopes. Recently I came to conclusion of my purpose of this: I am comparing myself with them. 

When one seat is suddenly free I take it and put on my phones.

In, 20 minutes
Everyone will remember you when you’re gone
And your heart, is a stone

The song is whispering me about girl with cold heart, pretty clothes and words which are slipping from her like fire. I am tuning into mood, falling deeply into my reverie, creating scene in my head, where a guy is chasing girl. Screaming at her lyrics of the song as insults.

What will you do when something stops you?
What will you say to the world?
What will you be when it all comes crashing
Down on you little girl?

Suddenly, I feel that I am watched. I turn my face to my neighbor, man who sat next to me two minutes ago. The rucksack is still on his back. Between his legs on the floor I can see the bag with groceries for last-minute dinner. Probably student as me. He is listening to his own music, but with unshaven smile as he is hiding some private joke. The feeling of insecurity strikes through me and I am thinking if my choice of music is subject of his amusement. I glance at his device to make it back to him when I see the same cover of the album as on my device. The same group, same song.

How would you cope it the world decided to
Make you suffer for all that you were?

I stare at him with surprised face and he is looking back at me with knowing smile. But it changes when we lock with our eyes for more than acceptable time for strangers. In that moment only thing floating through my head are lyrics of the song. 'Don't you know people write songs about girls like you... About girls like you.' And I don't think it is impossible that he doesn't hear them too. That look is suddenly something more. A message.

He looks down, grab his bag and leaves out of the door on the next stop.

I sit there trying to process in my own shame that something have moved and changed in me, the little bolt has clicked to some different place. I glance over the people in their seats as I saw their shadows in the windows for the first time. Because they are not the same to me as five minutes ago. Not anymore.

Hello, 

As you may noticed English is not my first language, but through writing I am trying to achieve satisfactory level for my language skills. 

Thank you for reading and feel free to express your feelings about my work.