sabato 4 gennaio 2014

London to Brighton train ride, 1953-2013: a 60 years long journey

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.
Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you. It all seemed so stupid. I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.
Still I said nothing.
I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.
But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.

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