The other day I was taking the subway home, and I couldn't help but notice a couple seated directly in front of me. From the looks of it they were homeless, but what really caught my attention was the fact that I was on the train for at least half an hour, and I swear there was not a minute that went by without them holding hands.
Maybe because I was in a reflective mood or maybe just because I am a little weird, I decided to write a short piece inspired by the lovers before I got off at my stop.
Here it is:
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They held hands. Palm against palm, they rode against current and back again, through an underground maze. The space around them slowly filled itself, as it often did at six, and each breath seemed to cling to the next.
Soon the air became an indistinguishable mass of bodies, warmth, and exhaustion.
To some it felt like an oven, to others, a spa, but to them it felt like home.
Waiting patiently until each weary soul had descended, they fell asleep: still holding hands.
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I don't know what it was about the pair of them, but I was truly moved by the affection they shared for each other.
Have a good day.
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