6:13am F Train.
Last night I cringed at the thought of being awake before the sun. This morning I'm elated by my reunion with the purple swashes of paint that get splashed onto the world at night. They are dark. And meaningful. And kind. The streetlights seem extra bright with those long illuminated fingers stretching in all directions, far into the darkness.
The F train watches the night sneak away from Smith st. The couple sitting across from me are sitting painfully close, stealing nervous looks of passion from each other every other minute. They're clutching each other's hands like the ride to wherever they're headed is a walk of the plank. They're light is stretching towards me, desperately.
Delancey St. They're gone.
That is to say, they aren’t sitting across from me anymore, but they left something here with me. It’s small, diminutive. An appreciation for something simple.
My ride on the train today is not a dreadful impetus towards something I can’t handle.
That’s enough for me.
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