Another day, another journey.
3 more days until the weekend.
3 more days until a lie in.
3 more days until another lame ass party, probably.
The tube station is buzzing with people, as usual. I rub my tired eyes and chew on my cheek, hearing rain pelt down on the station roof, ah, typical english weather. It's not long before I'm on the platform, waiting for my train.
The same train I take every morning,
every day,
every month.
My ears are cold and my fingers feel numb,it's only september, and I'm inside, and I'm still freezing to death. I like it though, the cold never bothered me. It's my favourite time of the year.
The train approaches, and blurred bodies rush forwards hoping to get a seat. I've gotten used to standing now, it's becoming a daily thing, and I know I'll get pushed down if I tried to find a seat anyway. I'm almost the last to board the train, I almost miss it, but the door snaps shut just behind me and I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.
I repeat it to myself a couple of times, reminding myself that it's true. There's always a panic, with me. I get so sweaty and gross around people, especially this amount, the train's maximum capacity. I weave in and out, between hot bodies and find a bar to hold onto, just as the train jerks forward. I sigh, half an hour wedged between a sweaty man, and a business man, who has an unnecessarily large rucksack that digs into my chest doesn't sound too fun, but I remember the bright side. With my free hand, I pull out my earphones and smile, placing them in my ears. Just as the music begins flowing in and around my head I glance around and notice him. Again.
He boards the train every morning. Every day the same time as me, never late. He doesn't wear a suit like most other people on the train, he wears hoodies, and black jeans, and hats. And I like that. He's cute. And he's even cuter when he smiles at me. Once he wore a t-shirt, and I saw his tattoos. I notice him everyday, and I always think about how nice his arms were the one time I saw them and how good he looked with tattoos and sometimes how I wish I could get him a coffee because he always looks so tired, but in a nice, warming kind of way. But somehow he always manages to be too far away, on the other side of a sea of people, towering over all of them.
His teeth show when he smiles this morning, and I make an effort to smile back, wider than usual, despite the uncomfortable position and placement I am in. He laughs, isit at me or with me? I'm not sure, and I truly don't mind. I like our silent interactions in the mornings, I never realised how much you could communicate with people just through facial expressions until I met -or didn't meet- him.
His earphones, like mine, are always in his ears, and he bops his head along with the music, a mop of messy, blond-ish hair bouncing with it. It's a funny sight, and I'm definitly not the only one staring. I might be the only one, however, who is staring because they find him so utterly and completely attractive, and slightly hilarious.
Some people just exude and radiate the persona of a fun, sweet person, and he's one of them.
The train comes to a stop. A handful of people exit the train, leaving a slight gap between me and people I was previously in a human sandwich with. I can move, and now see him even more clearly. This happens for the next few stops, slowly the train becomes emptier and emptier, and now there's only about 17 people left. I don't move though, and neither does he.
We're both looking, both making faces, but neither of us dares moves. His eyebrows raise as I look at the man sitting down, on his laptop, and then back to him. I tilt my head slightly, signalling for him to look. He does as I motion, and we laugh at the same time, causing remaining passengers to shoot us half irritated half confused looks. It's a morning tradition, for us, really, to laugh at passengers. There's always someone to laugh at, sometimes it's each other. Sometimes I laugh so much I have to bite my lip from angering everybody on the train. I find it wonderful and fascinating how I've never heard his voice or known his name, and yet I always share a laugh with him, always, every morning.
As the train halts, and a few people board, a few people exit, I change the playlist on my phone, and smile as a favourite comes on. I move and mutter a sorry as person falls into me. Glancing back upwards, my smile falters, as just as easily he manages to make me laugh, he manages to slip off the train. I guess I should know when his stop is by now, and I suppose I partially do. It's just not fun to remember when he leaves, because I'm left thinking about how I'll never know his name, or his age, or his friends or what he does. I guess I'll never know him, even though I feel like I already do.
And it kind of sort of sucks, but at least I have something to think about for the rest of the journey.
