Today as I was sitting on the train I was watching the rails going along the ground.
They all seemed so smooth, unbroken and never ending, all lost in the speed of the train. Only ever now and then was the motion interrupted by another rail crossing it.
Then suddenly I noted an old rusty railing following the tracks. This one was not smooth, it was not uniform and it was not an unbroken line.
Then I realised that out of all the things I was looking at from the train, the old rusty railing was the only thing that gave me the impact of moving forward. It was like standing in an elevator with completely a smooth wall. You have no idea if you are moving up or down or at all. There is nothing giving it away.
Except the imperfections.
I saw in front of me the comparison of life as these two objects.
Either smooth, perfect and glistening or old, rusty and broken.
But from my point of view on the train, all I could see was the old rusty railing that gave me a sense of moving forward.
Maybe it is, after all, the imperfections of our lives that makes us realise how far we have really come, when we finally take the time to look back.
