She had fallen in love with far too many strangers.
The old woman selling vegetables in the family-owned market by the Finsbury Park tube stop.
A Moroccan man in the Costa by Trafalgar Square.
A child watching with wide, curious eyes from the window of a daycare center by her flat.
A teenager watching her phone as she meandered down High Street, looking away from it until she reached the crosswalk.
Then there was the man on the subway, the one who clutched his briefcase like the world would fall apart if anyone saw inside it. She pictured the two of them, two brown-eyed children grasping her hands, as he kissed them goodbye each morning. She saw him coming home, disheveled and worn, lost in his own world. He didn't kiss her hello, only goodbye. She took off her ring and had considered custody arrangements by the time he got off at his stop.
He was her favorite daydream. The one she got lost in at work. She saw him that once, but so many faces looked like his and she couldn't separate any person from the person they weren't. She promised herself if she saw him again, she'd strike up a conversation. But he was never there. She thought about posting fliers, but that seemed silly. She tried to look up him LinkedIn, but she didn't have a name or a business or anything helpful besides what train he took to work, and that's when it hit her.
Missed Connection
We sat across from each other on the Victoria line on October 15th. I got on at Finsbury Park. Your eyes are deep brown like chocolate, but nicer and your briefcase matches your shoes and I want to know what secrets you were guarding. You had a book in your hand that you tried to read between the bumps, but I never saw the cover and I really wish I had. I didn't know you were gone until the doors were closing at Green Park. I missed my stop and had to get off the next stop and trace a new route, and I was running behind and didn't get a chance to grab a coffee, but I think if I got to see you again, I'd consider it again. I'll be in the third car.
The old woman selling vegetables in the family-owned market by the Finsbury Park tube stop.
A Moroccan man in the Costa by Trafalgar Square.
A child watching with wide, curious eyes from the window of a daycare center by her flat.
A teenager watching her phone as she meandered down High Street, looking away from it until she reached the crosswalk.
Then there was the man on the subway, the one who clutched his briefcase like the world would fall apart if anyone saw inside it. She pictured the two of them, two brown-eyed children grasping her hands, as he kissed them goodbye each morning. She saw him coming home, disheveled and worn, lost in his own world. He didn't kiss her hello, only goodbye. She took off her ring and had considered custody arrangements by the time he got off at his stop.
He was her favorite daydream. The one she got lost in at work. She saw him that once, but so many faces looked like his and she couldn't separate any person from the person they weren't. She promised herself if she saw him again, she'd strike up a conversation. But he was never there. She thought about posting fliers, but that seemed silly. She tried to look up him LinkedIn, but she didn't have a name or a business or anything helpful besides what train he took to work, and that's when it hit her.
Missed Connection
We sat across from each other on the Victoria line on October 15th. I got on at Finsbury Park. Your eyes are deep brown like chocolate, but nicer and your briefcase matches your shoes and I want to know what secrets you were guarding. You had a book in your hand that you tried to read between the bumps, but I never saw the cover and I really wish I had. I didn't know you were gone until the doors were closing at Green Park. I missed my stop and had to get off the next stop and trace a new route, and I was running behind and didn't get a chance to grab a coffee, but I think if I got to see you again, I'd consider it again. I'll be in the third car.
No comments:
Post a Comment