1 train on a Friday morning in May

May 31, 2013

I didn’t want you to move away. It was hot on the subway but bearable, and the tequila from last night made my skin feel translucent. Your blue plaid shirt touched my arm for the first time and shot a bolt of energy into my body. I didn’t see your face because your head was looking down. What were you thinking? The train moved along and your shirt rubbed against my skin every so often. It kept me warm, like the hot sun that moments ago launched rays of fire onto our vessels. You never tried to stop our contact, and I wondered if you noticed at all. I tilted my head towards you and closed my eyes. Did you know, I drank too much last night? Did you know, my inhibitions lessen every day? Did you know, the young lovers across from us push my head closer to your shoulder? When you stood up, I stared at your face. Your top lip is just as big as your bottom lip and it looks like a heart. It’s sweet, like your shirt. I rode the train to 28th Street and passed you at the door.


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