that train man

you think about that stranger with the interesting nose and long eyelashes. the flop of hair and the jeans slung low on the lips. the baggy tshirt that hasnt been washed and has gone to places far far away and came back only to be on the train. you see the posture, relaxed but not slumped. you gaze at the book hes clutching and the eyes that search for something. always searching for something with the knowledge of what he wants. the eyes that wander and stop to look at you. he doesn't hide behind glasses. he is real, warm and tight. tall like a statue, right in front of you. you imagine hes artistic, charming in a shy way that only those growing up with less confidence would create. the kind of temperament that doesn't come about often, but rather the product of humiliation and rising out of it all. but now, now, he grew into himself. he isnt that shy thing anymore, is no longer not sure about what kind of life he will have. he is charming. he knows the charming things to utter, the right people to kiss. the way to carry his shoulders. his shoulders do not slump. they stand. like his steady confidence and the way he is able to hold your eyes for just that one second. and you just feel your stomach turn.