Where it lives...

To The Lady on the Train,


You wondered how it is that you could be so lucky. I can tell you that it is not luck that makes me feel the way that I do about you... I will not give it a name, but I can tell you where to find it...

It rests in your beauty.


It is in your laugh.

It is in the changing shapes and colours of your eyes.

It is in the tumble of untamed curls.

It is in the soft skin on the back of your neck.

It is in every single familiar freckle across your shoulders.

It is in the way the small white hairs in the small of your back rise to a light touch.

It is in the length of your limbs.


It is in the impossible way you hold softness and strength within you.


It is in your every line and movement.

It is in your smile and in the air whenever you speak.

It fills the room whenever you walk in.


It is in the way that you affect everyone around you.

It is in the way sounds and light change when you are near.


It is wherever you are, preceding you and following you...

That is where it lives.




The Man in the Station