Yesterday, we rode our bikes to the train and caught it to the beach. I looked at all the words beside the train tracks.

We layed in the sun as it began to set and drank coconut water in the sand. I floated on my back in the cold water. My eyes closed as I envisioned myself floating out to sea with my arms and legs spread out like a starfish. 

When the sunset was fading we rode our bikes along the esplanade to the station. We made it back on the train home as the doors were closing. I put my shoes on and read my book as we headed towards the city.

A lady hopped on at Middle Brighton Station. She was ushered on by her daughter. I could tell it was her daughter because they both wore the same kind of smile and held each other close, entwined at the elbows. The woman walked her to the edge of the platform and then wished her well as the doors closed again. 

She sat down beside me and smiled unconditionally. She squeezed my arm with a soft, smooth hand and called me her grandson. I felt a childlike purity wash over me. She did her best to tell me about her granddaughter, who is a ballet dancer, travelling the world to dance. 

She told me about her husband, who was a soldier in a war. She gestured a big gun. She is from Ukraine. Paula. I found joy in listening to Paula speak, and although our questions were often caught between two languages, her smile disolved any misunderstanding. Before she got off at Prahran, she gave me two soft caramel lollies from her purse.