Instead of being here...

To The Lady on the Train,

I would really rather be home and curled up in bed...

The Man in the Station.

In a quiet distance...

Angel,

There are times that you are a wide open meadow, a warm summer breeze. There are times when you are sunshine and a happiness that fills the world like a balloon. There are times when your eyes shine bright and your smile  radiates like a beam.. In these times, you change the air around you - and everyone who feels it is made happier and better for it.

Yesterday though you were drawn in, cloaked, and far away. It is like you have drawn curtains around your light and heart. I know that the light still shines, but is held close - safe... I can see that you push through the motions of what must be done and what you believe you want to do. I can see you focusing on the tasks at hand - a distraction...

I can't help but wonder where you have gone - why you are so closed up... A part of me wants to push through, force the curtains open... I tease you a little, make contact with your smooth warm skin, and look into a beauty that cannot be described... I tease and I see a smile break to the surface - fleeting, genuine - a little melancholy smile...

Even in your distant quietness you are a wonder... I will not try to pry the curtains further... I can see that you need to be here for a while... I will be company. I will be quiet and ready for you. I know that when you are ready, the curtains will be thrown and you will shine.

I love you in all your ways.

Just me.

Do you know...

To The Lady on the Train,

Do you know how wonderful you are? Do you know how much you amaze me? Do you know that you are a rare and precious woman?

Do you know that I would give the world to you?

The Man in the Station

Cold commute...

Angel,

The tilt of the earth is now angling more and more toward the sun, lengthening the days - little by little every day... Today though, we could be fooled otherwise. A deep and wild cold has settled over this city. We are bundled in dark coats, wrapped in scarves, and leaning into the biting wind as we make our way to trains, cars, or streetcars. Flurries of snow swirl everywhere making the world a violent snow globe. And in the early morning, the lights from streetlamps, buildings, and cars are more harsh. Even sounds are hard and are felt like pebbles thrown at us rather than heard.

I am huddled in the back of a streetcar being pulled into the tall grey buildings of downtown. We are silent and huddled into our own thoughts and lives - a dark grey communion of secret desires. I think of you - and it is like holding my own little candle. I have my bright warm light and am happy.

The streetcar rumbles out from beneath an underpass and we are surrounded by rows of condos. Many have lights on and I get a glimpse into their worlds. A GO train passes us, pushing its way into the heart of the city. I cannot tell what track it is on and so I wonder if you might not be on that train - passing the same silhouetted dwellers. I can imagine you looking at the building drifting past the window - or perhaps you have your eyes closed for one more minute of rest...

Outside the wind and snow still blows - and it is cold. We ride in our separate bubbles of heat and light, heading to the same place. Though the days are getting longer, today does not feel like it. Today feels wild, cold and grey. But I will carry my secret candle - and it will keep me from the dark and cold.

Just me.

Happy Anniversary

My Angel,

Happy anniversary, Love. We have been together for four years. I will never forget the night that we claim as our start.... I think of it often. I often think of our many firsts and starts - first flirt, first lunch, first kiss... I remember we would write to each other, learning about each other - and falling in love with you the whole time. I think abour our journey together. True to our word, we have let our path take different directions at times - and it has not been what either of us expected - but we have made this path together, wherever it may take us. I wonder where we will go next... I am sure that I have no idea - but I can tell you that for as long as you will have me, I am yours and I will travel with you.

You have me in a way like no other...

Come what may...

Just me.

For you...

To The Lady on the Train,

I would move heaven and earth to make you happy.

The Man in the Station

Untitled Poem

Untitled
for you, My Lady on the Train..

At station you wait
every day.
Eyes seek friends,
not my way.

A glimpse from this train,
I can see.
Of us together
we should be

Through trick of light and
window’s glass,
You sit beside me
here at last. 


The Man in the Station

Burning Schoolhouse

Angel,

There is a firecracker called the burning schoolhouse that is sold as part of those home fireworks kits. It is usually saved for last. I am sure that you have seen it burn many times while growing up. Have you ever noticed how it burns?

Last night we touched the flame to the wick of our passion to set off the initial sparks.  We held hands, held each other, and we kissed with tender passion -  our passion burning toward the schoolhouse. 
 
Like the schoolhouse, there is a point where the spark seems to disappear somewhere inside… You are left wondering if it has gone out or just hidden for a while – but then something ignites, leaving no doubt…

And here’s the thing with the burning schoolhouse – you can never be sure just how it will burn… Sometimes there is a volcano of fire shooting up from the chimney – desperately trying to bust its way out of any confines and consuming the entire schoolhouse completely in one quick burst… Other times the school house burns the way you expect paper to burn – more slowly, you can watch the fire moving through the schoolhouse and watching the schoolhouse turn to glowing embers that last.

We started the spark and we watched it burn… we played with it, fanning it higher then letting it cool only to fan it again… One thing we did not do was to let the spark reach the schoolhouse… I do not know how we would have burned – like a flare, or a candle… but I do know that we could have let it burn hot and until we were spent.. I wanted to burn that schoolhouse down – whichever way our passions would take us.

Just me.

A confession...

To The Lady on the Train,

I have a confession...

We spoke of our aging today. There was a sense of so much time already gone, so little left, and a fear that the best may have passed... Not fear of the future - nor regret for our pasts... but still a sense that things might have been so completely different... if only...

I made light of my wrinkles and greying beard - and these are truths that I cannot change. I looked across the desk and I looked at your face, your eyes... I followed the line of your shoulder and arms.. I followed my mind down your spine too... I looked at you and your smile and the dark shine in your eyes - and I wanted to say something to you.

I wanted to tell you that you are beautiful. Your beauty captured me when I first saw you - and you are even more beautiful now. And my confession is this: I want to be lucky enough to look upon your face through the years ahead of us. I will see your face wrinkled, your hair grey - and I will see your beauty shine...  And I will be filled... Yours is the face that I love.

I wish that you could know what I feel when I look at you. I wish there was a way for you to feel it too...

The Man in the Station

Belief..

Angel,

Last night in the car, I told you that you are beautiful. You had been at the gym, you were not 'done up' and you were feeling tired... I told you that you are beautiful and as you usually do, you laughed it off.

Earlier in the day at lunch, I sat across from you - watching you as you worked, thought, talked, and ate. You wore a black turtleneck and your hair down, framing your face. I wanted to tell you then, but held my tongue - I am not sure why I did...

At different times, in different places, changed lighting, changed clothing and moods... whenever I look at you, I can see your beauty. I see you and my heart skips and my breath catches... I look at you and am filled up to the point of bursting...

There are times when I wonder what it is you ever saw in me... I still have difficulty in believing that you could ever have turned your eyes in my direction... I am even more surprised that I have held your attention for this long..

If you try to believe your beauty, I will try to believe that I deserve you...

Just me.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I can be still, close my eyes and almost have you with me.. I can hear your breath and the sounds of the sheets. I know your freckled back and the feel of your shoulders and spine under my palm and the flare of your hips.. The corner of your eye and my nose pressed just behind your ear...

There is a place where I hold you and sometimes I can almost make it real.