I can't decide what it is I want, if I want it, and why.

I came to France to explore. To see life through a different lens. As cliché as that sounds, it's true.

I've taken the métro nearly every day. In addition to finding my way to/from a métro stop, associated with the word "métro" to me is the type of people I see in it. I walk down into the underground cave, with a pass in my hand, ready to flash it to anyone ready to doubt my entitlement to access. Not that anyone actually cares. How many times have I seen someone give themselves a running start in the middle of a swarm of people just to leap over the ticket gate?

Once past the ticket taking machines, I head to the platform I need. I pass a mother with her child in a stroller, a business man (very French looking), a poet, someone who didn't get enough sleep the night before, a woman with a red coat and long red hair, someone my age (who is dressed in a similar fashion), a musician, a group of teenagers.

I'm at my platform, and the train arrives in 3 minutes, so I stand near the edge. An actress with her script moseys her way next to me. Another business man walks to the other side of me. Two business men. A business woman. You can tell by their fancy clothes. A sketchy man isn't too far behind me. A homeless man with all his belongings is sleeping in the distance. I clutch my bag instinctually. The train arrives, and depending on the time of day, type of métro stop, and day itself, I'm either pushing my way into the car, or casually lifting up the métro door lever to advance quietly to a vacant seat.

Once seated (or standing, again, depending on the situation), I brace myself for time travel. If I'm facing the front of the train, I'm saying hello to the future. If facing the back, goodbye to the past. Facing the side of the train is always my favorite. In the train, a man with his pant button popped sits. Another man with his newspaper is just across from me. Two guys are talking to each other about what they're doing later tonight. A woman in a nice coat and jeans is cackling on her iphone. She's standing. A couple is touching lips. We get to the next stop. No one exits. A few enter. A man with his two young children make their way to an empty set of seats. The children are bouncing off of him. A man with a bright shirt, and designer bag checks his watch. A man who'd entered just then, pulls out his accordion and plays something delightful for the dismal train-riders. The train starts again. Looking out the train, I flinch when another passes by. We slow down to the next stop. I see people across the tracks on the other platform.

Some see you, many don't. We don't exist to one another. One of the most beautiful men I've ever seen was on the métro. He never saw me. I remember his face.

I guess it's the same thing anywhere you go. Not really sure where I'm going with this. What I want from it.
The next stop, I exit. I head to the destination then in mind. Outside, it's brighter.

When coming home yesterday, I was SO happy I'd bundled myself up, because if I hadn't, the snow would have made me that much colder.