Fireflies

She smiled apologetically at me, indicating that my backpack doesn’t really need to occupy 2 seats on the metro, and, at the same time, that she regrets interrupting my light musical trance. And she’s right, it’s the first time in a couple of days I have the luxury of listening to my music, and I’m blissfully unaware of my surroundings, completely tuned in. I listen to Mohammad Reza Sajaranian, or more precisely his orchestra with one of his disciples singing a heartbreaking song about…. love? for god, a woman, or wine? Tragedy?  I chose to play this album because it never fails to get me into touch with myself, and clear emotions. Something which I was craving for after a whole day of gas station patience and conversation. A moment for myself.

The girl settles in in front of me, immediately grabbing her music player and deciding what input to receive. And I’m out of my moment, I can’t help wonder what she is playing, and why. It’s not the first time either, from time to time I meet this crowd on public transportation. They never fail to fascinate me, and I’m one of them. Switching music every 2 minutes. Frantic glances at the names of stops, fully aware they are totally absorbed to the music.

When the girl started to bob her head, I couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t help but notice, and was sucked out of her moment. Embarrassed, I looked at the window instead. And wondered what she was playing, and wondering if she wondered what I was playing. In the end, do we really now what someone else is listening to?