On The Road (Alex Turner)

I open my eyes. I see houses running through my vision, then grass and then houses again. I almost forgot I was on the train. I rub my eyes. My legs are in touch with my chest and I wrap my arms around to lean against them. My boots are probably dirty, but I have no power to take them off. I look beside me. I guess I am alone. Opposite me the seats are empty too. I sigh. I really can't do this anymore. I've been travelling from place to place and still nothing that inspires me has knocked my door. What am I doing wrong?

My thoughts are interrupted by the opening of the cabin door. I don't look directly to the person that entered, because maybe he or she would feel awkward. I am looking outside the window, until the person sits somewhere from the three seats that are available. He chooses the seat opposite me. I couldn't wait any longer, I had to look towards the person who was going to accompany me for the rest of the journey. My eyes rest on his face. He isn't looking at me, he is searching for something in his bag. His bag was a guitar bag, but it seems he has more than just a guitar inside it. His hair are trying to form a quiff, but fail completely. They are longer than needed, and some of the hair are covering parts of his forehead and eyes. I want to stop looking so he won't think I'm a creeper, but I can't.

I can't because his dark blue leather jacket is shining to the reflection of the fading sun.

He takes a book out of his bag's front pocket. Is it a book or a notebook?

Why is he so interesting? Maybe my 19 year old self is too excited about everything, but then again I can feel he is something different. I've never felt the urge to talk to someone so much in my life. I want to hear the sound of his voice. If his hands move when he talks to emphasize things. If he'll try to fix his hair, but they'll fall again. If his eyes are as I imagine them to be.

Look at me. Please.

He coughs. I look down in case he looks at me. He must not know how much I'm stunned by his appearance, I don't want him to leave this seat. I awkwardly scratch my arm. I ensure he isn't looking at me and then my eyes continue to examine him. He wears black tight jeans and black boots. How old is he? Maybe 25? Or more? I can't tell. I swallow slowly as he turns the page of his book. His hands are beautiful. I know silly of me to care, but I do find it important. They seem careful and delicate. He reads and reads. I know it's only been minutes, but I feel like it's been hours of him not looking at me. Suddenly, his lips contour a unique, half smile. My heart stops. He raises his eyes and locks them with mine, as my face must have looked like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't have.

"Am I doing something weird?" his voice is better than I dreamed it to be. He has a thick British accent, somehow incomparable to the rest of the accents I've heard. I feel like his eyes are looking into my soul. They have a dark brown color, nearly black, but the significance of his look is tickling me. They are big, soulful. His smile is making my palms sweaty and as long as I can find my heartbeat for once I am able to answer.

"No." is all I can manage. Nothing is weird about him. He is just reading his book, and I am there staring at this person like I've never seen another human being in my life. The idea of him knowing I've been looking at him since the minute he sat there is worrying me.

He looks at his book again, but seconds later his eyes meet mine.

"Good to know." his smile is still decorating his face.

I blush. I must seem so stupid. So incredibly stupid. I am the weird one. All the thoughts racing through my brain, imagining waking up to his face and smile, won't leave me alone. I'm searching for something to talk about, instead of stating a terrible no again.

But I can't. I have to stop looking at him. I try to casually search inside my bag, but then I remembered I have nothing important inside. I look outside the window again. Don't look at him, he is making my heart ache.