Inspired by this painting by Evgenia Klimenko She sits quietly listening to the sound of the train approaching. The brakes screeches as it gets closer. Her eyes set upon the man sitting against the cold tile wall of the station. He slowly and deliberately moves a tiny piece of cloth along the saxophone in his hands, marred with the scars of time. She watches him as the smooth sound of a beautiful melody fills the station, dancing along the breeze that comes with each passing train. The melody fills her mind. She is acutely aware of his refrain transforming the station. She watches a scene of beauty pass before her. She tries to imagine the man's life before this time and place. Maybe he was an honorable father, with a loving family, or maybe, she thought silently, he once was a hero, a man who fought valiantly for what he believed in, a war or a cause. The man is quiet and hardened. He seems weary with a sadness behind the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Ye...
I write to remember, to question, and to connect. Here you’ll find essays, stories, and fragments of life — all the ways I try to make sense of the world, one sentence at a time.