Avenue P McDonald Ave F train platform

Sometimes I wonder if mistakes are mistakes or some sort of self sabatage. Several times I have lost an hours worth of writing. I should have learned my lesson. I was on the train this morning and as is usual, I was writing a short story or some kind of diatribe about the chances taken and the roads I chose to avoid.

I really liked this one and I was looking for the exact quote that I wanted to add to it when…I lost it. The platform I was using totally erased the words I had written, like a jigsaw puzzle completed and then fallen to the ground, the letters of my words had fallen and whatever had been expressed was gone.

Now, I like what I write most of the time. In fact most of the time, I don’t even know where the words come from.

There are words I write from the viewpoint of the faces I see, for example, on the subway,and I imagine what their stories are. The usual stuff, lost love, broken dreams, happy (not as frequently) times and empty hearts.

My writing inspiration stems from the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald with splashes of other authors, lyricists and words heard as I walk, sit and stand listening to my surroundings.
I know I can sound downright depressing or repetitive at times, and it worries or turns off some readers. Yet it’s how I perceive the faces I see and most probably I sense some hidden emotions I have tucked inside my jeans pockets or my old winter coat. I think they call that projection? Whatever…

So, I wrote this, this thing that I wanted to post along with this black and white photo I took on the platform of the Avenue P elevated platform as I waited for the train.

The main thrust of it was familiarity and though the photos may look the same, the world is quite different each time the photos are taken, from one fleeting second to the next everything changes despite appearances they remain unchanged.