Merry Christmas

 To The Lady on the Train,

It is Christmas morning and the weather is unusually warm; there will be no white Christmas this year. Despite the weather and the darkness and fewer homes decorated with lights every year, it seems, we have somehow managed to keep our collective spirits up. It has been an active struggle and a test of will, and not always easy or successful, but we have made it to this day. And that in itself is worthy of celebration. 

A black wet morning of cold drizzle will slide into a flat grey morning of cold drizzle. And yes, though the Christmas lights shine on fewer homes, there are still bright coloured lights in the darkness. There are still signs of hope and happiness to cast away darkness and to guide us along city streets. 

Though the house is empty of children and the day will lack joyous squeals, though the magic of a Christmas snowfall has not appeared, there is still always gratefulness and joy to be found in what we already have. 

If all that you can see is all that you lack, the magic of this day is easy to miss, but it is still there. It may only be an ember,  but if sought for, tended, and given a breath of life, it will warm and glow. 

The magic of Christmas is not that it is given to us by weather or in receiving desired presents. The magic of Christmas is making our own little light amid the darkness, and to share that light with those we love. 

Merry Christmas. 

The Man in the Station 

A Gift

To The Lady on the Train,

There are those who would look at you and somehow not see the intricate curls of your hair or the line of your neck. 

There are those who would look at you and not see your sharp shoulders and elbows, or the angles of your arm as it rests on the table. And they would not see the delicate taper of your fingers that hold so much strength. 

Some who would look at you would not see the softness of your cheek and the dimpled spot below your eye, and somehow ignore the way your jaw sweeps up to behind your small ear. 

There are those who would look at you and not be moved by the swing of your arms and the pendulum of your hips and the bounce of your curly hair as you walk. 

There are those who would look at you and beyond reason, manage to not fall into your eyes.  

As impossible as it sounds, there are those that would look at you and not see all the magic and beauty that you possess. Those people who do not see you have missed a wonderful gift. 

The Man in the Station

Reflections on a drive

To The Lady on the Train,

Every time I have to get used to the sensation of missing you all over again. There is an emptiness that is the shape of you that I feel so acutely once we part. It is a place inside of me right next to my heart. 

When last we drove, half lost on streets we should know, we talked and debated, and I wanted to hold your hand.  It took forever to get not very far but I didn’t care and wanted to just drive and talk with you. 

I thought about taking your hand and wondered what you would have done. But I already know. You would have held my hand and your voice and eyes would have changed. I can picture the tilt of your face and the purse of your lips and see your conflict and thoughts and emotions tumble out in a glance.

You would have let me hold your hand and I suspect that part of you maybe wanted me to take your hand and part of you relieved that I never tried. Maybe in taking a little I would be taking too much. That is my greatest fear: taking too much. 

So for now I will take your time when we can. And I will hold in my mind all the images of you that I can grasp. And these I will keep. I have named your brown eyes Always and Forever.

The Man in the Station

In the rooms where you are...

To The Lady on the Train,

I do not know the rooms in which you now move. 

I do not know the walls, the stairs, the floors, nor the slant of your roof. I cannot imagine where you are. 

I cannot picture you at any table or resting on any couch. I cannot place you in a beam of slanted light coming in from your window. The where you are now is not the place where I see you when I think of you. 

The rooms where I know you are in the past. 

I see you in a carpeted basement, sleepy and content and beautiful.

I see you in a house of wood and stained glass and wonder, your eyes shining.

I see you in dim room upon a wooden bed, your fingers curled around the slats and a sigh escaping. 

I see you in an office lined with the tokens and trinkets of your life and I wonder if you still do that.

And I can still see you walking down a green carpeted hallway, black slacks, white blouse, and the twirling of keys on a lanyard and you not noticing me noticing you.

Though I do not now know your rooms, I do know your eyes. And I know the wildness of your hair and the smoothness of your cheeks. I do know the strength and straightness of your back, and I know the round and sway of your walk. I know your voice at my ear and the way it makes my heart pound.

I do not know the rooms in which you now move but for all the rooms that you take up in me.

The Man in the Station

15

To The Lady on the Train,

15 years ago, you would have been waking up to spend the day getting ready for an evening at a Christmas party. I imagine that it was a day of anxious stress.

Your shoes and dress already decided, purchased, and worried over. You would be getting nervous about how your hair would turn out. Would the makeup be okay? 

I can tell you that the dress was perfect. The shoes were perfect. The hair and makeup were perfect.

You were perfect. 

What you did not know then and could not know then was that I was smitten and intimidated by you and had been for some time. You wouldn't have believed it even if I had told you. You didn't believe it when I did eventually tell you.

That night I watched you from afar. I watched the grace and lines of your limbs. I watched the sweep of your hair and the arch of your neck. I watched you stand tall and straight and say the words that you needed to say. 

Though I remember parts of the night and some I can never seem to recall, there is a moment that will be with me always. Words tumbled out of your mouth that absolutely stunned me, and I still find myself being surprised by. Those words were to change so much in my life because they changed so much of what I thought that I knew. 

That night started something that I could never have expected or even believed. 

15 years ago, a casual comment changed my entire life. And I am beyond grateful.

The Man in the Station

Each time we part

 Each time we part I have to get used to the sensation of missing you all over again.