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 of the closing doors... |
Technicolor to the Night
Rail
by
Jessie Barone
I took the last train of the night. She was sitting
across from me. I tried to stop
fidgeting in my seat.
I never know how to sit the right way, legs crossed or slumped down. I
noticed her
normality, like she knew just how to be. I swear she had to be
perfection wrapped up
in a big pink bow. I couldn't help but feeling underdressed.
Staring isn’t always the best policy, but honestly I couldn't help it.
I have seen her type before, classy, beyond my reach. I view this world
in a
grayish smog kind of way. She seemed to bring Technicolor to the night
rail.
Brown hair as chestnut as it gets, ethnic in a way you only wish you
ancestors would
have been blessed with.
I really couldn't pinpoint her origin, but Lord only knew she has good
genes. A flicker
of a light seemed to catch her in mid-motion - a finger wrapped in her
hair.
A bit of insecurity, this troubled me. You see I always tend to glorify
the one
next to me.
A flash of her eyes startled the lady next to me. Did she know I was
looking at her? Lord I didn’t know what she must be thinking!
I wish I'd had the strength, the guts, the balls to ask her name. Let's
face it I would have
been another freak at midnight wanting to get her number.
How many of us pass never knowing the other's intentions? Her stop
finally arrived;
she walked out of the train, out of my life. |
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