Painted Buildings.
Watching their faces lit beautifully on the screen, their eyes bright only somedays, though. His face shows the scars she’s left. Her face shows nothing, to him, to them. But in her seat, in the dark she knows. She feels every ache. Every indecisive look, touch— really feels. Their stories intertwine for less time than her own. She sees though every tiny detail of two people going through life. Drawing the buildings they’ll climb up, jump off, take in. If words could really tell anything it’s that only time, without seeing her blue dress, his black pants. The sunset. Shielding everything, and you’ll recover. You will. You’ll still feel him. Feel Us. Feel his hand on yours and wish for more of the past summer’s…
Love, waiting.
He’s fiddling with a ring, on the 557 train. Moving it through his own fingers, back in the dark blue box, out again in the sunlight. He’s smiling. She’ll wait for him as he gets off, in the rain, her blonde hair is darker and her dark eyes show deeper. Gold flecks bounce off his own iris as they kiss. The thundering of the train leaving their tracks, to a new season, they’ll hope. Please, please, please they sing on the way back to her home— his hope, as they watch the clouds. The tall grass penetrates her spine and makes her shiver without any breeze. They sit in silence, feet tapping, hearts pumping and his glass drops. Seeing the reflection off the water, he’s suddenly hopeless. Demanding answers, she shuts down, looks away, wishes him away. Regrets all the best moments, all their most beautiful days; the nights. It’s now him alone on the bench made for two, her behind the oak tree longing to be there. As she approaches feelings rush over and she collapses within him. Falls asleep in his hands. Tomorrow will be another obstacle within the trouble and chaos raining over her uneven footsteps. With or without you, she’ll survive.
