empty seats

I still remember the first time I sat in this seat.

I was alone, kinda scared, a bit anxious. I didn't know where I was going. I thought I was going to ride alone but it was full of people--people I didn't know. So I was still alone.

Every stop people arrive and people depart. But the longer I stayed, the more the bodies filling the seats became faces I could recognize. Bodies continued to file in and walk out at every stop, but there were always a few that stayed. These few became more than familiar faces; these few I sat with and ate with; these few shared the same blue skies and dark tunnels of the ride with me. These few I'd seen the highs and lows with, I'd seen the world with these few.

At every stop, a few of the few would get up out of their seats, walk out of the open doors, and disappear into the throng on the platform. As they walked out, more walked in. More empty seats brought more empty bodies to fill them. But not every seat was filled. Some would inevitably be filled later, but some seats will always remain empty.

The doors slid shut again and we started moving again. The last stop was a big one; quite a few departed for the last time. I looked around to see who was still here. The number of empty seats continues to grow. I'm almost at my destination and number of passengers whose faces I still know is dwindling.

But the rare few who have the same ticket I do, the ones who have the same departure, the same destination; the ones who have remained from the beginning of my time to the end of line--those are the ones who have made the ride worthwhile.

When it's my turn to walk out of those doors into the swirling crowd of unknowns, I'll still have my little piece of paper as proof of my crossing over.
But destination is only half the story.