Status Updates From A Grand Central Station em ...

“I know these days are offering me only murder for my future. It is not just the creeping fingers of the cold that dissuade me from action, and allow me to accept the hypocritical hope that there may be some solution.”

It kinda reminds me of that Rilke quote on accepting the unresolved longing in your heart

“But I love her and her silence is propaganda for sainthood.”

The faces, the faded houses, the autumn air, everything is omens of promise to the prodigal. But leaning against the train window, drunk with the hope which anything so unbegun always instils, I remember my past returnings: keep that vision, I pray, pressing my forehead against the panes:

here is no underlining of an accidental picturesqueness, but a waiting, unself-conscious as the unborn's,