The girl wiped her tears
and her memories
off her phone
off her heart
wiped his existence
from the core of her being
left him, forgotten
a relic on the mantel
tarnished without borrowed lustre
from her youthful joy

(Alone, again. )

Many years later
she thought she had healed
boarded the train, just like everyday
a numbing, a ritual, a rite of passage
everyday she washes herself clean
of the little girl inside
steps out of the train
an adult, weathered and weighed
she gives the clamour of her spirit
to the faceless people
of the morning race
and the trembling terror she held tightly
as she held the strap
knuckles white, snowlike fragile
lonely as the moon
blinding as the sun
bloodless as
the fragments of the stars

(Old, yet not. )

the crowd shoves her out
at the dreary station and she
lifts her head
looks out across the top
tries not to trip on a strangers heels
she trips anyway and
so does her heart

a young man, older than she remembers
flows in the maelstrom
of the opposing Lethe
he has a phone to his ear
his hair is disheveled and
a red mark peeks out of his jacket
on the shoulder of his shirt

their eyes meet
for a fraction of a heartbeat
just a glance and nothing more
and a late truth rings painfully
through the last call broadcast
he has forgotten
she has not

(And she will carry this forever.)

the train tracks stretched into infinity
nostalgia on her backbone heavy
for a story never revisited
a future never rewritten

(Later, her fingers hover over her phone’s keypad, but she does not have the courage to recall his number.)

fated to brush shoulders
for a moment
doomed to miss their chances
for a forever

(We never know when is the last goodbye.)