Photo by Patrick MobergLet's live a cliché;
Our eyes meet coincidentally in the middle of a rush hour in a subway station. By accident you look once, then twice. The third time, you pretend to be looking at the board while you try to close your umbrella. But I know how it works; you can't hide it from me. Why is your hair wet? I don't get it.
The crowd around us turns silent and moves in slow motion. No matter how many times I get bumped into; my looks remain calm, waiting for the next exchange.2 minutes to the next subway. It's not mine. Hopefully, not yours either.
Our eyes meet coincidentally in the middle of a rush hour in a subway station. By accident you look once, then twice. The third time, you pretend to be looking at the board while you try to close your umbrella. But I know how it works; you can't hide it from me. Why is your hair wet? I don't get it.
The crowd around us turns silent and moves in slow motion. No matter how many times I get bumped into; my looks remain calm, waiting for the next exchange.2 minutes to the next subway. It's not mine. Hopefully, not yours either.
E.Y
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