Listening to: Cousteau - Black Heart of Mine
She left him on the subway train to get to work. He realized, watching her back, that he was going to lose her. These past months growing irksome with conflict and, worse, silence. He wanted to reach her, to make her love him, to remind her of her offer so long ago, in a day long forgotten, when he, still unsure, refused her. Can you love too late?
The subway was filled of a thousand such stories, a thousand eyes hiding tears of frustration and sadness, each for one's own misery, disconnected in all but the fact that they were all on the same subway train. If only love were as simple as the subway: when one finds that one has missed one's station, all one has to do is get on the next subway train going in the other direction. How can love be so illusory, so fickle? Just a few months after her offer, when he finally understood that, no matter what doubts he was able to conjure, and he could do it just by breathing, he wanted to be with her, she told him that she no longer saw him like that, that all she wanted was a friend, and now even that seemed to be fading.
It had been like this throughout his life, missing stations and collecting friends, and he just didn´t know how he could leave this damn subway train, how he could follow her and let her know that if she wanted they could find a station just for the two of them, where no trains would pass...
He resigned.
Between stations, he kept looking to the station map affixed on top of the train doors, anxiously hoping for a sign.
