In a train car
I lied to you. I lied that I didn’t care about you at all. That you were just one of those faceless “them” I randomly share this railway box everyday. Yes I said nothing, but still I lied.
I really wanted to wrap you with all of me but I didn’t. How could, er, should I? I’d die to have my skin on yours and feel your lips right there right then, but I didn’t. All I could give were those unassuming glances—yes! They were shouts of my want of you, my need of you… like fire enveloped in hard ice. Once, our eyes met. And in those divisions of time’s littlest speck I told you I wanted you, obssessed to have you. You should’ve given more attention to my glances. You should have. You felt it didn’t you? But I know I lied; and I believe that you knew I lied to you, that I may have a reason to explain your passivity. But we shared that glance didn’t we? Funny, but I believe we did. I know we did. But yes, I lied. I so, so lied.
I hope you lied to me too.
