Act Three.

“Waiting for the right time.”

Not because you are serene, you should be stagnant.

Not because you can wait, you are the right one.

Memoirs of the past month wavered through the smelly glass window of the 3 o’ clock bullet train. Memoirs of the near yet distant mixture of the simple happiness printed the leather-covered chairs.

I passed the 3^rd train station before my stop. No one seemed to rush at this hour. They all appear to be slowed down after the busy afternoon in work and school. Some of them tried to inhale the perfect air of the afternoon—

I tried to differentiate my feelings...

Differentiate between love and pity.

Differentiate caring from responsibility.

Differentiate the first time from the 2^nd time around.

The faith’s passive invasion tore apart the truth from the lies; the right from the wrong.

And so the wrong broke up...

I couldn’t handle the lies.

Not when the future holds the truth.

I walked out of the train and crossed the busy street, before going inside a supermarket. Looking at the list of groceries, I lifted a blue basket and ambled into the lanes. And across lane 17 and lane 18, I found a familiar person, her short hair gently hiding the smoothness of her face.

I came inside a supermarket to buy groceries, but I found more than I wished for.