Words from the Metro

From somewhere beneath the surface of the Earth:

I watch them move, I watch them breathe, I watch them make new friends, hold hands for the first time. I watched him propose, and I watched her refuse. I watched her getting really good at candy crush, I watched him cram for an exam, falling asleep on a stranger’s shoulder. I watched flowers wilt and old age bloom. I watched their lives between the seconds it took for them to get off at the next station, between the glances they chanced at the boys they’ll never come to know. I watched her read messages from a time she can’t relate to anymore, and I watched his scars heal to reveal a compass on the back of his hand, and then I saw you. You watched me the way I watched you, your eyes full of untold stories, your fingers too nervous to hold another, your voice too shaky to speak. And looking into your eyes I knew that I wasn’t alone… I was never alone.

There’s someone waiting

There’s someone waiting for me. Someone who’s eyes glitter and words resound. Someone who knows my palm by heart. Someone who caressed my hand as if that would make up for all the alternate endings that didn’t come to play.

You’re waiting for me, probablly watching the door because that’s where I once became the shoulder to rest your head on. You handed me stories in the disguise of blue paint, and when the paint was over and I gave you a glass of water, you offered it to me first. You tried to wipe away the paint on my fingers, the tears off my face, the stains off my heart.

I wish you could see yourself in all the ways that I see you. For more than the words you can’t bring yourself to say, for more than the black paint you love so much, for more than the things about you that you lost somewhere along the way. It took you seconds to reach my heart, just as long as it took for me to reach your hand. You’re waiting for me. You’re counting seconds. Up to ten, then you start once again. You watch the door. You’re waiting for me, and when I don’t turn up today, I hope you know why I couldn’t look at your fingers tracing lines in mine and say goodbye.

To someone called Malika that I met. Someone who said they’d wait for me to come back the next day.