Bits of newspaper are all that
Occupy the table at which
You sat on this same train,
Twenty two days ago, but
All I can gaze longingly at now
Is an empty seat as the noise
Of the engine almost drowns out
Thoughts of what I should have done.

As it is, if you saw me now
You would probably not remember me,
Though I do silly things like
Look out for you in clubs and
On buses that go past where you live.

Those twenty minutes seemed like
Twenty years, but the moment
Was still a lifetime too short, just as
These twenty minutes now are
Dragging as they struggle with
The weight of my regret.

I'd love to be able to pick up
The phone and call your ancient
Retro cool mobile, and continue
Our conversation about music that
Only we seem to know about.

But my lack of courage means that
I am unable to do that, and so
I am left with the vague hope
Of finding you in a huge mass
Of people at a concert
Over two months after our
Only meeting, if you're even
Going at all.

That sort of thing simply
Doesn't happen to me, though
Meeting you is the sort of thing
That doesn't happen to me,
So a minute glimmer of
Pathetic hope waits in my heart
To illuminate me in your memory...

And now I prepare to ascend
The stairs up which you hauled
Your luggage, and try not to
Think of the empty space beside me.

12/12/2003

Posted on 12/13/2003
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince