Was it really all the same

I started my trip at 4pm when I left class early to catch the 4:30 train even though Grand Central is only a five minute walk from my class, I just took the extra time just to be safe. The air was nice, the perfect temperature that supports my decision to wear my shaggy coat and my Johnny Cash tee that shows my midriff (my moms shirt actually). Surprisingly enough, Grand Central wasn’t bursting at the corners with people like it usually is at rush hour, I got lucky. I set off to track 20, I was heading to New Haven Connecticut. I was the first one on, allowing me to choose any seat I wanted in the vintage looking train with white and red leather cushions and splattered floors that matched. I chose my seat, a four seater on the left hand side, it seemed great but give it ten minutes I then had a fellow violently eating popcorn sitting right next to me. In his attempt to pour what was left in the bottom of the bag into his mouth, he managed to spill it all over me. We both pretended it didn’t happen and I continued reading my book and he continued to try to get the food to actually reach his mouth.
As the train took off I saw the sun set within seconds, making my two hour journey to Connecticut dark and not all that interesting. Once I finally reached the station I had about an hour to kill before my mom came to pick me up so I decided to grab something to eat and found myself sitting next to a middle aged blonde woman who asked if we could share the table, despite the open tables all around us. I didn’t even catch her name but something felt so comforting about her sitting with me while the T.V continued to run commercials of the devastating results of this years election, I could sense we felt the same grief and disappointment.
After about an hour and a half in the ole sliver mini van that used to pick me up from practice in high school I found myself at the place that feels odd to call home. I found myself walking to the front door the same way I always had, throwing my bags in the same corner I’d always thrown them, and doing the half wave to whoever was sitting on the couch. Its almost like everything was the same but was it really? My brother no longer had the front bits of his hair dyed green, my tom boy sister now had her hair pulled back in a feminine pony tail and had bracelets decorating her skinny arms, and my other brother was passed out on the couch rather then having his what I knew as regular sleeping problems. I headed upstairs to see my bed set was no longer the faded black and white abstractness that it was the day I left back in August. My room had an uncomfortably clean feeling that made me feel like a stranger in the place I had spent so much time but I came back to my senses when seeing my collection of electric and acoustic guitars along with my ukulele I bought off a friend who bought off a friend, shoved in the corner of my room, the same corner of the room I left them in. My Jimi Hendrix pick was still sitting on my nightstand table, “its all the same” I said just before I sat down on my bed and quickly realized my bed wasn’t my┬ábed, “or is it”


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