Before today, I'd never noticed just how often people whisper. Walking through the crowded station, my lone bag hanging from my shoulder, I watch these quiet exchanges.
Sitting on a bench, a young girl leans up to her mother's ear and tells a secret. She laughs and grins as her mother chuckles, amused at her daughter's childish humor.
In a dark corner, two young men stand together, planning something quietly. They look around nervously. One catches my eye and I look away.
A father grabs the arm of one of his rambunctious young boys and whispers harshly in his ear. The boy nods guiltily before going back to his seat to wait for the train, defeated.
Couples are scattered throughout the station. One stands close to a train that is about to leave. He holds her close, whispering what could only be sweet words before they part and she boards the train. He watches longingly as it leaves the station.
Now there is an older woman walking past me. She carries a cell phone in one hand and a brief case in the other. Her quiet words are as rushed as her clicking heels.
My observations are interrupted by the arrival of my own train. I board and sit quietly, looking around at other passengers silently whispering the words of music and books. Some speak quietly to each other.
I take a deep breath and look out the window. My hand comes to rest lightly on the cool glass. "Goodbye," comes my own whisper as the train begins to move.
