It’s three in the morning. I stare at the ceiling, gazing at the dark nothingness, perfectly awake. Sleep had not bothered to knock on my doorstep, or rather, it was kept at bay by nothing significant.
The train shuffles along rapidly, with the dying sun creating beautiful tapestries while intermingling with the clouds. The strong hues of yellow and crimson are taking over the gradually vanishing remaining traces of blue. I put my temple on the window glass and fittingly, flag off a train of thoughts.
I write to you today amidst the chaos of a transition. As you very well know, transitions are noisy and crude, so I’m sure you aren’t surprised I haven’t been able to write much to you. As it is, we are together on the white only for a short while this time.