I’m crying on the train but I don’t give a shit
You find yourself together; for 38 hours you are in unison. You breath the same, talk the same. You touch the same and see the same. You cry about the secrets you wish you could hide from. You laugh at the slight hopeless desires that these two days can hold some kind of future.….another time, perhaps? Later this year?
And now I’m crying on the train but I don’t give a shit. I’ve lived more over the past million breaths taken in four beautiful moments of euphoria than I have with any past lover.
You come inside me and my face gets damp…inexplicable tears stream down my rose-red cheeks, bestown upon me by the late night chill of New London in early spring. Why? I don’t know but the feeling I can’t resist and I crave you more and more inside me, until the melancholia in my chest resides to your lips touching mine. I feel you. I am in love with your receding hairline, I am in love with your macho pride. I am in love with how cool you think I am, and I’m in love with your big hands.
Waiting for the train. I close my eyes and look away as the sound of it’s ruthless, hungry engine creeps into our last sacred minutes. You casually sip your tea. I can still smell you on my fingers; thank god I didn’t wash my hands this time.
“Alright Kid, until next time. Keep in touch”
And I feel myself digressing, closing up in protection. I unwillingly fold my soul in two and pretend it meant nothing.
“Absolutely” I whisper, and smile. (Do I smile? I feel like crying).
And now I’m crying on the train but I don’t give a shit. Let these suckers see the me I ran away to be. For 38 hours, if only…if possible.