Subtext

So there she was on the subway sitting on a bench, waiting for her life to be figured out for her, by a stranger, watching the trains go by, not knowing whether to get in or throw herself on the tracks. She was like that: a girl who had things done for her, she was used to it, she didn’t know how to make her own choices, even though it seemed that she did. She had spent her whole life searching for a meaning that wasn’t there and the more she searched, the more she felt useless. No one she had ever met could explain to her how impossible it was to satisfy her, how impossible she was. The girl that was always unhappy waiting for the subway looking at the tracks, listening to music - pretending she was happy. Her whole life she was searching for new goals, so she wouldn’t get bored, but she was always bored, no matter how much she searched or achieved. No one could ever understand or bring meaning to her life; even happiness was boring to her. She questioned her reason for living; she was too smart for being so pretty. She wasn’t satisfied with superficial, material gratification and sometimes she drank to forget. But even when you drink you wake up the next morning then you have to face the consequences of being drunk. It’s not a good way to live. She was what they call an adrenaline junkie, she wanted to live life to the fullest every day but some days life is just boring and it doesn’t offer all she wanted from it. Some days she was satisfied, happy, excited about a new project, about her new life, about a career, raising a family, enjoying her friends, eating good food, going places. Going places, but she hates airplanes. She wishes she could just fly everywhere with her own wings and be 'free like a bird' as they say (even though sometimes birds are not free and live in human-made cages). Free of her own fears, not trying to sabotage anything, without any demons in her head. Real life is not like that. The demons are always there to make sure you don’t completely surrender to happiness. And there she was waiting for the subway, sitting down listening to music as if she wasn’t thinking all these things at the same time and as if music could make her happy; no one around her knew, they couldn’t hear her thoughts and she didn’t feel like sharing. And if she jumped they wouldn’t understand. They would believe that she was happy and she would keep on pretending not to be full of metaphysics inside her head. And they would believe it. They would believe she was shallow and superficial and uninteresting and futile and shallow, did I say shallow, yes and it would be easier to everybody this way. And there she was waiting for the subway. And the train arrived and she got in. And she was happy. Or not.