She sat right ahead,
hands crossed over her tummy,
her legs echoing for an excitement
which her posture denied to run behind.
I felt the shivering passed onto me
through the wooden boards
that creaked in that rusty compartment.
Occasionally there was the sound of her fingers
clicking over the rustle of bones.
I didn’t look at her,
didn’t dare,
not when her eyes never met mine
and I didn’t know how to look into that fire.
I wished though
for a moment of anxiety
when that awkwardness would disperse
and leave behind a moment of enthusiasm
in getting to know each other,
in realizing that maybe
we are the same.
But were we?
Her hands flipped over the stall
that she had placed over her neck,
maybe the chill got to her,
maybe my eyes.
I wouldn’t know,
wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery,
cause that is what I love in strangers
intersecting for that flick in our mind,
intervening for a glitch
that we wish to be,
for somewhere we could be someone else,
far from the reaches
and just start over
from scratch.
From the corner of my eyes,
my vision swelled towards her,
even though out of focus,
and I saw looking her out of the window,
maybe towards the friend she had along,
a beauty I must say,
but my eyes went to the other,
in the gentleness and the normalcy
that she breathed.
It was different for me,
for being attached to something so
in my reach, and yet so far away.
My hands extended to grasp
but the dream ended
even before the nightmare came to me
and asked for something more real,
something more fragile and tragic.
I didn’t dare, and thus I waited
for a moment that wasn’t going to come,
for a greeting that was just a desire nonetheless
but not a wish I wanted to forsake.
Cause there’s that chill in letting these moments
leave a mark without a tag,
cause tags just make it boring,
predictable,
stereotypical,
and those faceless strangers,
they are what lets my curiosity
breathe its fire,
and fills my will with desire,
they are what makes everything feel
infinite.
·own path