There she was. Her beautiful blonde hair blowing in the wind, moving as she glanced back and forth. She was worried; where is he? she must be thinking. I hadn’t seen her in years. But I had to do this. As I quickly walked over she turned and saw me. My heart was beating out of my chest.
I was waiting at the train station, I was waiting for the right decision all along. I sat there watching over people walking about in a quick matter. Maybe they should slow down and look around…
The station was quiet. The walls were gray, half broken, covered in peeling paint. The floors were covered in creaky wooden boards, along with the plaster remains of a ceiling long collapsed. If you listened, you could still hear the ghost of a whistle, still smell the thick gray smoke, still feel the rumble of wheels on the tracks; but, alas, it was all gone now. Gone forever.
I am sitting on a bench at the bus station. I am shaking. My plan was to come here, get on train and run away. The destination is not important. The only thing that matters is getting away from this life. I need to leave. I am afraid.
We sat at the train station waiting for the train to come. It was in Japan, and I was excited, because I hardly ever rode trains back in Florida. When the train stopped and people got off and we went in, I was giddy at the little seats facing each other and I sat down and watched as the Japanese landscape passed by. At one point, near lunch time, we bought egg salad sandwiches, and they were the most delicious sandwiches I’d ever tasted in my life. I never had as good a sandwich as that again.
Much to his surprise, Patrick’s station was upgraded to small child. In his previous life he’d been a very small brown, natty-furred animal with bobcat-like ears and a long, narrow mouthful of needle-sharp teeth like a garfish. His movements were quick and jabbing, so unpredictably so that he was feared by animals much larger than him. Badgers, even. His bite was crippling but his high-pitched, screaming growl, was the lethal thing. Unfortunately for his neighbors, he brought the latter to his current existence.
It’s where I go in anticipation of seeing you.
It’s where I go in the woe of leaving you.
I use it light a bridge connecting my life to yours.
It represents all the times we’ve tried to run away, and all the times I failed to get away.
He stood by the station exit and looked around with awe. He couldn’t believe what had happened that morning. The sun was shining through the large window and he actually prayed for forgiveness. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.
He came to a stop. Watched his surroundings while he settled into a nook to wait. Waiting and watching. For what he wasn’t sure, but definitely,he could feel, for something.
I wanted this word to be solitude. When I saw the S I thought my wish had been granted. Unfortunately, it had not been. Station. Grand central station. Only the opposite of solitude.
As my life flashed before my eyes.. I though of only one word.. what was it, I lost it… the word that could change it all had eluded me for the last time.. and it was on the edge.. the tip.. the end it was too late for more.. this was all I could think of.. The One Word.
She ran down the aisle of benches, clinging tightly to the hat on her head. The train station had never seemed so large. He was leaving, in less than sixty seconds. Soon, all that would be left was a puff of smoke from an overworked engine.
as i walked out of the station i could see the flaming wreckage of the car i once sat in, all i owned was in that car, i stood there transfixed and i smiled
The train pulled into the station at 4 P.M that Thursday evening. Emily had run away from home. She didn’t know where she was headed or where she wanted to be headed but she knew she had had to get. The conductor called that this was the last stop and she timidly walked off the train, not knowing what to expect from this new place.
She sat there at the station, waiting for her love to come back from his tour. She sat there watching the trains pass her by. “Today would have been the day,” she said. “Today would have been the day he came home.” But no, he gave his life fighting for the freedom of his country, the freedom of his love. So she sat there just watching the trains pass her by holding their baby in her arms and began to cry.
I went to the station with my grandmother, we had so much to do that day. Picking up flowers for my my grandfathers grave was the only thing on her mind, though. I wasn’t thinking much about it, I mean, he was dead. But his birthday lived on in her, because that’s all she could do to remember him.
the train pulled slowly up to the station and i glanced around me. The gush of wind nearly knocking me off my feet, i took a step back, readjusted my scarf and coat, and took a deep breath. The train slowed to a stop and i looked back at the place i once called my home. The doors to the train pulled open and i took a hesitant step foreword. I was about to leave the place that had held me close for 16 years. I was leaving, and i had no intention on coming back.
The train is leaving the station and I am but a mere passenger, rolling through the hills & valleys of my life. Shouldn’t I be driving then? Shouldn’t I take control, jump the tracks and go where this train has never gone before? After all, my destiny is in my hands…
The rain station. A station, it involves many different aspects. For one a station could be referred to be a space station, a radio station, or just simply a train station. A station is a hub that encompasses all things that comes about it. It becomes like a simple getaway for us to subscribe on. While the space station is a mere fact of the ex
Train stations. Bus Stations. Subway Stations. Every kind of stations. Always busy never calm (even in the wee hours of the morning). Constantly jam packed with people of all sorts: rich, poor, elegant, hobo, business, single mother, etc.. Oh the things you will see and the people you will meet in a station.
We saw each other for the first time at the train station. He of course was perfect and I was a total mess. I couldn’t help but wondering if he like me was leaving this town in search of a dream. Hoping that he would not have to come back here with them shattered, but with a heart certain that leaving was the right choice.
so i did this 3 times and each time i got the word station. is this set up so like a company that is called station could get some business ideas? because they aren’t gonna get anything from me!! i’m on to you STATION. oh yeah, you never thought that would happen.
This was the word for yesterday, and my mind still thinks “Harry Potter” when I see “station.” Meanwhile, gas stations are becoming increasingly dangerous in larger cities. Alright, that claim is not founded on research, but on the frequency I hear of violence at gas stations.
The trains station was filled up with people, even at that early hour of the morning. Tom looked down at the letter clutched in his hand and he felt his ire beginning to bubble again. There was nothing to be done. She had dismissed him with a simple wave of her hand and there was nothing that could be done about it.
He heard the whistle of the train and as he looked up, he was engulfed in a billowing cloud of steam as the locomotive stopped in front of him.
i arrived at the station.
at the station.
at the station.
i saw him standing there.
at the station, standing there.
found my love at the station.
at the station.
at the station.
with all the love i have to share.
i travel by the train every day to college.. i love the sights sounds and smells at the station. lots of beggars, coffee, chai, magazines is all the things that comes to my mind wen i tink abt the station.
The station in Shropshire after the workshop was so isolated. It felt like we were on a film set. There were no screens telling as the times of trains, no staff and no phone. And our mobiles had no signal! Would not have wanted to be there alone – especially after dark! There always seems to be green benches on these types of platforms. And one sheltered seated area where everyone huddles to keep out of the wind and rain. And chewing gum. Always chewing gum stuck to the bench. Stations placed amongst stunning scenery.
Tick Tock… I wait… Tick Tock… The train’s not coming… Tick Tock… Where do I go now. I make my way though the dirty, dusty road searching for somewhere else to go. Then I see it. The lights in the distance can belong only to one thing… I run.. Almost there… The train had just pulled in. I’m free.
Station. I don’t have one. *L* Train stations — there is one in town that I would love to buy and turn into a counted cross stitch shop (to be called “The Stitching Station.”) But what about a station in life? Do we have one? What is it? How do you change it or should you just accept it?
We arrived at the train station at a quarter past 12. A middle aged man in a fedora asks me if this seat is taken. I say yes. He gives me an odd stare and asks the same question to another woman across the aisle. She doesnt seem to care where the man sits, and pushes her purse to the side. She unfolds the newspaper and i watch the man peek at the Life and Style section from behind his sunglasses. The train moves and does my mind.
It was all static all the time; not a single channel would come in on the old radio. Yet she loved it all the same, and one day she would fix it up and it would play like it used to. She sat, staring at it with affection as the memories of late nights, cozy by the fire, listening to the music in his arms came flooding back to her; memories preserved in that little box.
I went to the train station the other day train plain maine let me tell you its difficult to ride and rime at the same time it difficult cause i cant type like a train goes fast i am just as slow as that but the limit of the train and the pain it takes are the same, and vola to say the least the traveler can alo read as fast as me.I type he rides conducts confides in a sytem that lies on tracks the right tracks fast tracks black jack casino trying to flow like the rain on the window, when it snow or outside glows we still ride the train.
I was at the train station, coffee mug in hand, begging for a chance to start over. I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t know what I’d do when I got there. I only knew that there was nothing left for me in this place, and I had to leave. I had to find a new world. I have to start over.
The man stepped off the train at the station and looked around expectantly. The girl in the yellow dress stood next to a concrete pillar and waved her petite handkerchief in an effort to get his attention while remaining ladylike. It was what her mother had always said to her. The dress you wear should be tight enough to show you’re a woman, but loose enough to show you’re a lady. This was it.
There she was. Her beautiful blonde hair blowing in the wind, moving as she glanced back and forth. She was worried; where is he? she must be thinking. I hadn’t seen her in years. But I had to do this. As I quickly walked over she turned and saw me. My heart was beating out of my chest.
I was waiting at the train station, I was waiting for the right decision all along. I sat there watching over people walking about in a quick matter. Maybe they should slow down and look around…
The station was quiet. The walls were gray, half broken, covered in peeling paint. The floors were covered in creaky wooden boards, along with the plaster remains of a ceiling long collapsed. If you listened, you could still hear the ghost of a whistle, still smell the thick gray smoke, still feel the rumble of wheels on the tracks; but, alas, it was all gone now. Gone forever.
I am sitting on a bench at the bus station. I am shaking. My plan was to come here, get on train and run away. The destination is not important. The only thing that matters is getting away from this life. I need to leave. I am afraid.
train waiting for one. leaving. going on a trip. going to the city. getting run over by a train. running in front of a train. running away.
We sat at the train station waiting for the train to come. It was in Japan, and I was excited, because I hardly ever rode trains back in Florida. When the train stopped and people got off and we went in, I was giddy at the little seats facing each other and I sat down and watched as the Japanese landscape passed by. At one point, near lunch time, we bought egg salad sandwiches, and they were the most delicious sandwiches I’d ever tasted in my life. I never had as good a sandwich as that again.
Much to his surprise, Patrick’s station was upgraded to small child. In his previous life he’d been a very small brown, natty-furred animal with bobcat-like ears and a long, narrow mouthful of needle-sharp teeth like a garfish. His movements were quick and jabbing, so unpredictably so that he was feared by animals much larger than him. Badgers, even. His bite was crippling but his high-pitched, screaming growl, was the lethal thing. Unfortunately for his neighbors, he brought the latter to his current existence.
It’s where I go in anticipation of seeing you.
It’s where I go in the woe of leaving you.
I use it light a bridge connecting my life to yours.
It represents all the times we’ve tried to run away, and all the times I failed to get away.
He stood by the station exit and looked around with awe. He couldn’t believe what had happened that morning. The sun was shining through the large window and he actually prayed for forgiveness. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.
He came to a stop. Watched his surroundings while he settled into a nook to wait. Waiting and watching. For what he wasn’t sure, but definitely,he could feel, for something.
I wanted this word to be solitude. When I saw the S I thought my wish had been granted. Unfortunately, it had not been. Station. Grand central station. Only the opposite of solitude.
As my life flashed before my eyes.. I though of only one word.. what was it, I lost it… the word that could change it all had eluded me for the last time.. and it was on the edge.. the tip.. the end it was too late for more.. this was all I could think of.. The One Word.
She ran down the aisle of benches, clinging tightly to the hat on her head. The train station had never seemed so large. He was leaving, in less than sixty seconds. Soon, all that would be left was a puff of smoke from an overworked engine.
as i walked out of the station i could see the flaming wreckage of the car i once sat in, all i owned was in that car, i stood there transfixed and i smiled
The train pulled into the station at 4 P.M that Thursday evening. Emily had run away from home. She didn’t know where she was headed or where she wanted to be headed but she knew she had had to get. The conductor called that this was the last stop and she timidly walked off the train, not knowing what to expect from this new place.
She sat there at the station, waiting for her love to come back from his tour. She sat there watching the trains pass her by. “Today would have been the day,” she said. “Today would have been the day he came home.” But no, he gave his life fighting for the freedom of his country, the freedom of his love. So she sat there just watching the trains pass her by holding their baby in her arms and began to cry.
I went to the station with my grandmother, we had so much to do that day. Picking up flowers for my my grandfathers grave was the only thing on her mind, though. I wasn’t thinking much about it, I mean, he was dead. But his birthday lived on in her, because that’s all she could do to remember him.
the train pulled slowly up to the station and i glanced around me. The gush of wind nearly knocking me off my feet, i took a step back, readjusted my scarf and coat, and took a deep breath. The train slowed to a stop and i looked back at the place i once called my home. The doors to the train pulled open and i took a hesitant step foreword. I was about to leave the place that had held me close for 16 years. I was leaving, and i had no intention on coming back.
subway nyc love dirty green red lamp post bench waiting time glass cover stairs old antique un noticed
The train is leaving the station and I am but a mere passenger, rolling through the hills & valleys of my life. Shouldn’t I be driving then? Shouldn’t I take control, jump the tracks and go where this train has never gone before? After all, my destiny is in my hands…
The rain station. A station, it involves many different aspects. For one a station could be referred to be a space station, a radio station, or just simply a train station. A station is a hub that encompasses all things that comes about it. It becomes like a simple getaway for us to subscribe on. While the space station is a mere fact of the ex
Train stations. Bus Stations. Subway Stations. Every kind of stations. Always busy never calm (even in the wee hours of the morning). Constantly jam packed with people of all sorts: rich, poor, elegant, hobo, business, single mother, etc.. Oh the things you will see and the people you will meet in a station.
We saw each other for the first time at the train station. He of course was perfect and I was a total mess. I couldn’t help but wondering if he like me was leaving this town in search of a dream. Hoping that he would not have to come back here with them shattered, but with a heart certain that leaving was the right choice.
so i did this 3 times and each time i got the word station. is this set up so like a company that is called station could get some business ideas? because they aren’t gonna get anything from me!! i’m on to you STATION. oh yeah, you never thought that would happen.
The train began pulling into the station. I turned around, frantic.
“There’s still so much-”
“Shh,” he said. “This doesn’t change anything.”
As the train pulled into the station the man stood and watched. This was to be the first day of the rest of his life.
in this silver station i stationed my hearth, and like ice in winter estaciones i get cold, i hope another station comes.
This was the word for yesterday, and my mind still thinks “Harry Potter” when I see “station.” Meanwhile, gas stations are becoming increasingly dangerous in larger cities. Alright, that claim is not founded on research, but on the frequency I hear of violence at gas stations.
The trains station was filled up with people, even at that early hour of the morning. Tom looked down at the letter clutched in his hand and he felt his ire beginning to bubble again. There was nothing to be done. She had dismissed him with a simple wave of her hand and there was nothing that could be done about it.
He heard the whistle of the train and as he looked up, he was engulfed in a billowing cloud of steam as the locomotive stopped in front of him.
i arrived at the station.
at the station.
at the station.
i saw him standing there.
at the station, standing there.
found my love at the station.
at the station.
at the station.
with all the love i have to share.
STOP.
The train has arrived,
the station reached,
all change here.
It’s the end of the road,
the last stop on the track,
so here is the station,
and there’s no turning back.
Buy yourself coffee,
wait for the train
to come whistling in
and whisk you away,
but one day there’ll be
no way to turn back.
It’s the end of the road,
the last stop on the track,
so here is the station,
and there’s no turning back.
i travel by the train every day to college.. i love the sights sounds and smells at the station. lots of beggars, coffee, chai, magazines is all the things that comes to my mind wen i tink abt the station.
The station in Shropshire after the workshop was so isolated. It felt like we were on a film set. There were no screens telling as the times of trains, no staff and no phone. And our mobiles had no signal! Would not have wanted to be there alone – especially after dark! There always seems to be green benches on these types of platforms. And one sheltered seated area where everyone huddles to keep out of the wind and rain. And chewing gum. Always chewing gum stuck to the bench. Stations placed amongst stunning scenery.
Tick Tock… I wait… Tick Tock… The train’s not coming… Tick Tock… Where do I go now. I make my way though the dirty, dusty road searching for somewhere else to go. Then I see it. The lights in the distance can belong only to one thing… I run.. Almost there… The train had just pulled in. I’m free.
Station. I don’t have one. *L* Train stations — there is one in town that I would love to buy and turn into a counted cross stitch shop (to be called “The Stitching Station.”) But what about a station in life? Do we have one? What is it? How do you change it or should you just accept it?
We arrived at the train station at a quarter past 12. A middle aged man in a fedora asks me if this seat is taken. I say yes. He gives me an odd stare and asks the same question to another woman across the aisle. She doesnt seem to care where the man sits, and pushes her purse to the side. She unfolds the newspaper and i watch the man peek at the Life and Style section from behind his sunglasses. The train moves and does my mind.
It was all static all the time; not a single channel would come in on the old radio. Yet she loved it all the same, and one day she would fix it up and it would play like it used to. She sat, staring at it with affection as the memories of late nights, cozy by the fire, listening to the music in his arms came flooding back to her; memories preserved in that little box.
I went to the train station the other day train plain maine let me tell you its difficult to ride and rime at the same time it difficult cause i cant type like a train goes fast i am just as slow as that but the limit of the train and the pain it takes are the same, and vola to say the least the traveler can alo read as fast as me.I type he rides conducts confides in a sytem that lies on tracks the right tracks fast tracks black jack casino trying to flow like the rain on the window, when it snow or outside glows we still ride the train.
I was at the train station, coffee mug in hand, begging for a chance to start over. I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t know what I’d do when I got there. I only knew that there was nothing left for me in this place, and I had to leave. I had to find a new world. I have to start over.
The man stepped off the train at the station and looked around expectantly. The girl in the yellow dress stood next to a concrete pillar and waved her petite handkerchief in an effort to get his attention while remaining ladylike. It was what her mother had always said to her. The dress you wear should be tight enough to show you’re a woman, but loose enough to show you’re a lady. This was it.