Strangers

We met on the Metro. You recognized me first then noticed my tummy and smiled. “When is your baby due?”

“In about six weeks,” I said.

“That’s very exciting,” you said, and I wondered who you were now. I remembered how you felt and the enthusiasm of our bodies acting as if on autopilot. I remembered those nights of seeking what would always be unattainable.

I knew a day would come in the future when we wouldn't even recognize one another upon meeting. Just two passing strangers preoccupied with survival and desire.

I never mastered the art of keeping someone close. Making love was my talent. Holding onto love, not so much. I wanted to say, “My heart aches for all the ills it has committed. I wish I could find redemption.” But I didn’t say anything.

When you stepped off at your stop, The doors slid shut and I almost stumbled from my thoughts. “Next stop, Springhill,” said a faceless voice.

It felt strange to carry so much heaviness. I remembered us. How many times had we made love? How many loves had slipped through my grasp?