A Distant Evidence of Company

Every window is a plasma screen, through each a display of my time with you shows. 

But your goodbye stabs, in the most emotional way. Only a distraction can heal this leftover feeling of heartbreak. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe I should if I want to find some kind of peace tomorrow morning. Same as her knowledge of me. We both know I hate, despise, detest to wake up with anger. Put a muzzle against my temple, and I'll still give the same annoying answer. I'd rather be empty or feel that way.

But you’re also that distraction. There’s no escape. Which I scorn. But somehow cherished? Even with this transit map in mind, your dark-brown stare back through it. You and your curly hair, the satin-finish formula used for this pink beige nude lipstick, I still remember mostly in details when you glossed it over your two fleshy folds essential to speech.

Once again, I fight the appreciation of you with what awaits me home. Okay, breathe a little. I know I said you’re my home after that dispute. It worked to give you hope of me. The longer I gaze through the window, the deeper you guilt me. Even when I look through the other rectangular views of the train, I find myself on the realization to remind myself to not take you home.

You said goodbye when I was a bleed. You said it through tears, the tinge of your look had a rosy color of sorrow. Even when I shut my sight, those details of you leave a puncture in my heart. So I cry with you and against how my empathy sympathizes that or this cruelty. A voice beside me tells me to stop crying; a clear indication to avoid the attentions at earshots. But I decide to ignore as if I’m ready to be killed. My three-year-old daughter smiles at me from a memory, waving through the rear window of the taxi cab, purple was the dress I left her in. That exact dress, but with a scare face hovering over the neckline sleeves, were the reason I followed this stranger without much to disagree for.

I wipe my tears and drag a tissue from my backpack. Now that I think back of it, I think she offered me this tissue box for excusing myself during that night out. My nose was running due to a seasonal allergy. Yet it does with this stranger beside me. It did not happen when I took the public transit to send a gift from the post office. This stranger has a pet my eyes can’t stop from watering. Or slept on a pollen ground. That night when her dog came spend time with Eléonore by being in its cage, it’d barked disturbingly. Until Eléonore snapped to drag her dog outside. It was only then Eléonore had realized there was someone outside when her dog started to growl from the front-porch deck. My head hurts less than when I didn’t believe the picture with purple dress, and got smacked on the back of my thoughts. I had to try.

I thought of the rail steward as my hero. By comparing his age to the stranger under a cap, I judge him useless, same opinion goes to that wish. Now or never as goes the saying for those who want to survive. Or are about to act, yet in need of that saying. I won’t lie. I need it to repeat it. So I repeat with a plan just around the corner. The train slows on the third stop, as commuters depart for other to become ones, I imagine myself as one of those people going about their businesses. A wife; a kid; but never a pet: my nose just can’t. But then the rail steward walks past the last hope I plotted. I look down beside me again, and see it. The lines of his pistol in the front hoodie pocket. But I snap at the rail steward for not seeing it, which makes me feel better at some degree. Quel con! I learned that from her. What a schmucks!       

Through the window, I shape myself in the man’s suit and holding that brief, or the one getting welcomed with a kiss; well, someone will get lucky. Or the young fellow bobbing, but in better choice of pants, ripped pants gives that poor and rich look at the same time. Pick one young fellow. But when the doors shut again, I become helpless, lonely, frozen by fear, held by what could happen to her, and any consequence in between. Yes, that man in no rush to be where I’m been taken to. This stranger won’t let me go unless I do as told. I’d proposed her some money, when how much came on the table, I doubted with all the expenses with Eléonore, the fourth reason for which my mouth remains shut.

By the time, the fifth stop happens. Peeing turns into a request to the stranger. I prove her wrong I start peeing in my pants, remembering the shorts in my backpack. At this point, I express no care to be glared at during the release. When we walk down the walkway, this time, I shift a window into a breakaway glass as while in the air, I give by back and survive without a scratch and start racing away with my Tom-Cruise cardio. A cold shiver runs down my span for considering how thick these other windows would practically hurt like. And get shot in the chest for not listening. I never got wounded beyond some scratches after falling from a bicycle I’d stolen, that kid I’d stolen it from, had spat on me instead. My optional situation of experiencing this type of agony would have been a quiz at 3 am sharp. My only weapon right now, an imagination I don’t want and a short attention deficit. Now that I remember, Eléonore had bought me some pills for my focus, I used some before having. I don't want to sit on the word pills because my ex-wife used a different word for in court to win the divorce, which I came to learn after my blood test.

The thought of my little one still keeps me from running away, I think I’ve healed long enough considering the situation I’m stuck in. When the stranger told me it wasn’t for money, I’d expressed some surprise with a mix of confusion. Till now I’m still clueless. But what in the hell does she wants from me? As far as I can tell, I’m only good in taking pictures; last for less than thirties minutes on bad days; and work for - it makes sense. I can still escape from this.