Friday, January 24, 2014
The low rumble of diesel engines somewhere in front of us
The dull whir of fans blowing warm air around us
The fine whine of steel on steel beneath us
The clicking of fingers on a keyboard somewhere behind us
The various folds of leather, wool, silk on dozens of adjusting bodies
Who breathe quietly but do not speak
I can say, “excuse me” as I squeeze past you to the window seat
Or “bless you” when you sneeze.
I pretend to hear your heartbeat beneath the rise and fall of your chest.
Dare I say, “I love you” on the quiet car?