Merry Christmas

To The Lady on the Train,

It is early Christmas morning; cold, quiet, and still.  The houses up and down the street  are silent with darkened windows though they are outlined with strings of coloured lights which brighten the snow covered lawns.  It’s the magic hour when the world holds its breath, heads still on pillows, waiting for them to slowly rise one by one.

And they shall wake on this Christmas morning. Children in frantic anticipation and excitement with their high pitched voices waking their parents. Others will wake more slowly and drink coffee under dimmed lamps, warming to the day ahead. There will be hugs and kisses and gifts exchanged; and Santa will have visited. And it will be magic. 

I hope that when you wake on this morning that you find fulfilled the wishes you didn’t even know you made. I hope you find magic. 

Merry Christmas 

The Man in the Station 

The Longest Night

To The Lady on the Train,

The longest night of the year would not be near long enough if I could spend it with you.

The Man in the Station

In a restaurant beside the highway

So you know…

Whenever I see you it is never the same. There are times when we are more intense and other times we are more casual. Sometimes we joke and sometimes we are serious. Sometimes you are incredibly close and other times you are away. 

But there are some things that remain consistent. I do not know if it is the sound of your voice, or the shapes of your eyes, or the overwhelming desire to cup your cheek in my hand and feel to lowering tilt of your face toward me. I do not know if it is the wonderful tangle of grey pulled into a disobedient wildness, or the line of your neck, or the arch of your brows. Or perhaps it just that you are so close and yet the distance between us is one I ache to close with the taking of your slender hand. Perhaps it is all of these things, but there is something about being with you that fills me up. There is something more than blood that is pumped through my beating heart when you are close. 

As I drive west and you headed east, I empty. It’s like the pulling of the plug from a bath; it all drains out.  I am left somehow hollowed. 

And in truth, I have looked for someone else who does the same thing, provides whatever that magic sensation is. I have tried to pay attention should there ever be a trickle. You are the only clear spring that fills me up. 

You are beautiful and it was wonderful to see you. 

Always. 

Stepping into a winter morning

To The Lady on the Train,

The morning has come bright, clear, and cold; and is in stark contrast to the pool of warmth abandoned in my bed. I have wrapped myself in hoodies and hats and mitts that were kept warm near the forced air vent. Bundled and booted with my four legged companion by my side we step out into the crisp cold, only one of us eagerly. 

Despite my dog’s urgent pleadings, I stand still for a moment. There are only a few brief moments where residual warmth will cocoon you, and I want to savour it. I turn my face towards the thin sun sitting on the horizon hoping that it will be enough to hold off for a moment the bite of cold that I know is inevitable. 

This cocoon of warmth surrounding me is like the way memories of you also hold and comfort me. I am buffered from daily winds that would sting without your warm glow. Even  in your absence I can still feel you. Like the scent of a lover, this blanket of warmth also dissolves, falling from me like mist. 

A tug from the leash and I am pulled away from thoughts and memories of warm beds and warm dark eyes. The tingle of cold on my cheeks wakes me fully, and we walk briskly. 

The Man in the Station 

Laughter Light

To The Lady on the Train,

How is it that the sound of your laughter can outshine the sun?

If ever I am in darkness the thought of the light that shines in your eyes is like the dawn banishing the night.

The Man in the Station