In a crowded place...

To The Lady on the Train,


I can sit in a crowded food court, in the middle of hard chairs, hard tables, hard voices. I can be surrounded by people and noise and chaos and lights that are too bright. I can sit there and not notice these things because your voice has drifted across to me. And somehow I find that I have fallen into your curls. Somehow, the line of your chin or the colour of your eyes has made everything else fall away. Somehow, the movement of your hand silences all sounds.


The Man in the Station