A Poem about That Person You Can't Stop Thinking About

I wrote a poem on this lazy Sunday inspired by a certain unfinished romantic episode that I have experienced not so long ago, with the purpose to a, express myself and b, make myself feel better about not doing anything productive. I'm going to discuss "wasting time in college" in the next blog entry. So here goes the poem that is temporarily titled "Hangover": 

Close my eyes and the train runs,

Close my eyes for no more than an hour, 

which seems too deep and long for no-more-than-an-hour. 

Deep tunnels and long rails. 

Fast train, anonymous platform standers, and nonexistent route maps, 

Stairs that are unexpectedly brief, briefly unexpected. 

Down and up, 

Strangers pointing inaudible directions, 

If eyes could move from the upper arm beyond the fingertip, 

then sound and its generator can be dismissed. 

That's how it works in train stations. 

It's a different story inside the train, 

Where leg room is as little as privacy. 

Where noises dimmed down and conversations surface.  

Where the collective is fragmented into bite-sized pieces. 

Where a trio of leopard patterned fur coated gossip,

Finds its salacious audiences,

who avoid open eye contact,

with the serendipity of free juice and pulp. 

Sit back and enjoy, 

Except I couldn't,

In a familiar anxiety station, boarded a familiar train, 

I couldn't find a seat,

For this suspended event,
On the timeline
Of us. 

Open my eyes,

You weren't on the train,

Because you took the taxi home. 

You have disappeared in my dreams
But the dreams were always about you, 

Ever since the taxi drove away and I smiled in tears;

your face behind the rear window liquified into a billow of urban memories. 

And that was the end of it. 

And the beginning of you and your obviously ubiquitous absence, 

In every way they can,

permeating my (hopefully temporary) destination-less train ride.