Where do I go from here? Which is the next station? Irrelevant, half-forgotten questions amid the hubbub of life. But tell me, this station is called life. What will the next be called? What will be its properties? Will there be a next station?
Rain has a hormone in me. So does evening. I just haven’t named it yet. This idea came to me because of the evening. And although I have many ideas in the bathroom, it doesn’t have a hormone in me.
I wanted to ask her if she thinks I’ll be able to make it where I want to be in life, but she went offline because of a power-cut. Darn it.
Even if I’m a nobody when you transcend space and time, I wanna be a somebody in this confined state of being called Station 100843, Life.