Wednesday, March 4, 2020


he sees her on the subway
even when he's late,
even when he's early,
as if, for some reason,
the universe delayed her
or hurried her clock
just so he could see her
again that cold winter morning
while he wondered
"will she be there?
it's late..."
...and there she was!

as if the universe
was trying to punish him
for falling in love,
with her,
with every other girl,
this morning,

all of the time,
the blood rushing in,
the sadness settling in,
the never-ending misery
that has been his heart
ever since he saw her
just moments ago.

...and moments ago
turn into days,
turn into weeks,
turn into months
while he hopes,
while he prays,
while he daydreams
it doesn't
turn into years.

he still sees her,
every day,
every morning,
at that precise moment
when she's not there
she has nowhere to go
because she's not there.

but he has to go,
because she's not there.