The Poetry Snapshot: Strangers at the Train Station

Between two rolling hills, the first glimpse of metal tracks emerge.
The platform is scattered with people ready to leave,
but I am sitting on the verge.

Counting each track as I wait for some peace of mind.
Luggage filled with the memories I cannot leave behind,
it’s almost too heavy for me to carry.
So perhaps I should stay back with my luggage,
or convince myself my destination is the wrong location.

I’d leave comfort for curiosity at this station.
But then two eyes fixate on my visible trepidation.

Fleeting strangers he seeks out on the sidewalk,
he gave me a spotlight in the comfort of small talk.
Because those I love and hold so dear
are always going to stand so near,
that I forget beauty from the horizon.

Waiting for the train becomes a journey in itself.
Standing with no expectations,
my fears are now painted over with new conversations.

To inspire without intimacy,
connect with no intricacy,
I remember a soft smile and hazel eyes,
yet you will never be named.

This moment passes by with the train,
and I find peace in the transience.
Our lives never need to cross paths again,
this fragile tie can remain undefined.
Confined to the walls of the New York Train Station.

I eventually get on my train, ready to leave.