Sleepless City, Lost Souls

A Midnight Journey

New York City is a very busy city even if it's midnight. A few passers-by are walking fast with their coats on and umbrella on hands. They can't probably wait to see their family again after working on a pile of papers on their desk.

This city never sleeps and city lights are everywhere. Tranquility fills me up inside as the rain pours. The scent of petrichor and the pitter-patter of rain were serene as always.

As I stand under the streetlight in front of a pedestrian lane, I wonder why I'm here. I always wonder why I'm here. It's meaningless.

But the term 'meaningless' is quite meaningful when your life is hopeless. I don't even know where to go. I grew up here in Manhattan and I memorize every street, yet it seems like I'm a lost soul who doesn't know which path to go, a lost homeless soul with no direction. I felt like something is missing so I left to find it and unfortunately, I am still seeking. Every time I return, all that's left is a dark void space. Everything's gone now, they're all gone. And then you bumped into me, said sorry, stood beside me and then we waited for the red light together.

It seems like everything's going on slow motion as I keep on thinking in sonder. No one is a turtle in this city, except for those who are forlorn and lost. We are those two. 

I don't know your name. I don't know where you live. I don't know you, but we are somehow connected. We are strangers and independent individuals but we are connected like abandoned trains. It's the bags under our eyes, the lifeless posture, the parched lips and the pale skin that's keeping us attached. We are soul survivors and we are human, so fragile yet invincible. We seek the depth of shadows, echoes and eternity. Ironically, our life is a living dead poetry.

We crossed the street on the red light and as we reach the other side, we walked downstairs to the subway tunnel. I guess you're taking the midnight train, too.

You seem to know where you're headed and that's our difference. I don't know where this rail is going. We wait for a while as the buskers started playing Don't Stop Believing by Journey. A man used to play it with me before he left my body weak, panting from every night I scream. The truth is, the pain is beyond a flickering flame, especially when he shares my blood. It haunts me, and so I ran. I ran from my father as fast as I could. Maybe that's the reason why I'm here, I'm not so sure anymore.

The train came and we got inside. I sit and wonder who these people are. Are they lost in their own home, too? Perhaps everybody is lost, it's just ours is different and ours is a very complex and intricate road. We are all misguided on our own road but still, we all have the same destination, six feet under. You see, humans are very busy paying life but too free to die. And we don't know what's still holding us to be alive but feel so dead tired. We don't know where we get all the strength and will to live, perhaps because we're too scared to die, not knowing what comes after life. I think it's better to live this life even if it's void. It's the fear that's keeping us alive and it's the emptiness that wants us to move on with life.

You sit beside me and our seats are equidistant. We are both anxious and our conversation is a mere few glances. There is an immense tension between us two, perhaps it's our unspoken sufferings that are screaming, asking for liberty. Ironically, this is a liberated city for imprisoned souls. And unfortunately, we are souls that are devoted to the inevitability of suffering. As for now, we are warm and we are real. We are human.

"Cause we are one of those ghosts, traveling endlessly. Don't need no road, in fact, they follow me."

My headphones are on and the volume was enough for you to hear the music. You have a small grin on your face while you were singing. And your voice is enough for me to forget that we are suffering. That broke our awkwardness, realizing that we are in fact misguided ghosts.

It's weird that we don't talk about the things that our minds say the most. I wonder if you are wondering what I'm thinking. I wonder what you're thinking. What I like about you is that, even if I don't ask, you tell. You told me about how you're going to your therapist every week because of your depression.

You told me about your favorite band, your childhood, and every piece of you that made you who you are now. But it seems like you're doing fine now and that inspired me.

Our souls are identical, but we are not meant to be together for a long time because everything is temporary. You just made me realize that no matter what happens, life goes on. Life doesn't stay in one place because life is a journey... and those who are lost are the ones who are truly living it.

As I feel like this is my stop, I waved goodbye to you. I didn't get your name but I hope somehow, somewhere, we will stay connected. The rain stopped pouring as I got outside but it's still cold, so I grab a coffee. It's now 5 am, a perfect time to watch the sunrise.

I sit on the bench in front of the bay like I usually do when I was a child, and greet the morning with a smile on my face. I'll be fine now. 

How ironic that this journey ends at the start of the day.