Claude Monet, Gare Saint Lazare, 1877

Time passes, yet nothing happens. There is a certain void that envelopes every aspect of life. There is no communication, no emotion, no acknowledgement.

Nothing.

Just a plain blank space. There may be darkness, or maybe light. There is just no movement. No progress or retreat, just stagnation. Life stands still in transit, though time seems to move even faster than ever.

Sometimes we are in transit. Waiting for the next train to arrive so it can take us to wherever we are meant to be.