White letter

I am sitting in the small and quiet railway station , which my life is , and waiting the train . I am going to some place , and i do not know yet where . I am impatient , and it is been a long time since I have not thought at something else , like a bride , before passing in front of the altar ; I carefully touched and arranged my bags , just like she is watching for a hundred times at her dress , on the eve of the wedding . I put in the bag all kind of things , some of them over payed in sleepless nights above books piles , in sleep , stolen in dusty buses in vicious January mornings . In a corner I have some beautiful papers , with my name on them , that certifies that i was , sometimes , in the right place , at the right moment . During my trip , i hope i will show them to somebody . If not , I will keep them safety , and show them to my kids , as a stimulant . I hope they will not ask me if I ever had benefits from them , because they will got me then ! So , I am walking on the platform ; it looks like the train will be late ... or , maybe I came to early . When i decided to go , I had big plans : first , I was planning to get off the train in teacher`s station , but i saw that is too cold and sad there , then I was planning to take a look in journalist`s side , but I found out that it has no sense - some of them were chased or enslaved ... so i gave up . I had big plans to get off in the elegant station of the jurist`s , but there were asked special clothes ,especially ordered from Paris . So , I decided to take a ticket by chance , and I got a.... white ticket , that will be written just after I will get in the train . I am still asking who are those people between two ages that are wandering through the railway station without bags , without ticket . Some of them have a kind of sadness that frightens me ...