Saturday, July 19, 2008

You, and the moon.

I saw you on the train again tonight. I've seen you before and not said anything. Usually you say something when you see me, or maybe sometimes you don't. I wouldn't know. You looked lost inside yourself, even without your usual headphones. I thought about how I wouldn't cross paths with you like this ever again once I finally give up the job that causes me to be on the one-somethingAM train back to Brooklyn. I would tell that thought to you if we were sitting next to each other, but there was a new to New York looking couple with a rolling suitcase next to you, and a latino teen with baseball cap next to me. I could see your reflection in the window across from us. I was going to try to catch your eye once we got off, but you got way ahead, and running or yelling just isn't like me. By the time you got through the turnstile, I was thinking terrible thoughts about how you might fall prey to some terrible thing, tragedy, by an unknown hand, or your own, and maybe an encounter, however brief, like when you caught up to me to say hi last week, might change an outcome. But instead, I saw both you and the full moon as I looked up to where the exit stairway meets the street, and then just the moon.


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