Escalators

There is something about escalators. As soon as you step on them, you are confronted with a choice. There are some people that will walk down the escalator with hurried smirks on their faces, tripping whoever is in their path. I like to watch these people and laugh, for their rushed steps are their own downfall. When I step on an escalator, no matter how short on time I am, I cannot help but to feel the clock tick slow. The colors around me blur and I am plunged into a moment that is mine. A moment where I don’t have to walk, run, step, try. I merely sit and remember, while I let time do it’s own trick and usher me to the next. Why rush an end that is already coming?

The eggs from that morning, dusted with the paprika and pepper the way I like. The melting cookie I chose, in a moment of weakness, to savor before leaving the store. The warm kiss I shared this morning and the smell of herbal tea as you prepared for the day. I am caught in a whirlwind of a freeze frame that allows me to remember my moments and have perspective on others, as they move on so oblivious within the store. In that moment, I can grasp the naivety and innocence of those around me, trapped in moments that keep them caged in a past or a future, but never a now. The escalator brings me outside of their world, and for just a moment I feel deep pity. They shall never know anything but the ticking of time, the heat of the deadline, the next meeting, the rush of a life passing before them. They will shatter into ash as I still wait, savoring time as golden and endless, filled with sun-soaked mornings with you and breakfasts of scrambled eggs in foreign cities that we knew not the name of until we awoke. There shall be many more escalators for me, I think.