Elevator Love Letter
He stood slightly to the left of her, seemingly occupied with memorizing the floor numbers. Nothing about him was particularly exciting or noteworthy: his clothes were unremarkable, the strong line of his jaw hidden by unapologetically bland scruff, his shoes were worn but clean. In fact, she couldn't think of a word more apt to describe him than average.
A thoroughly average man.
Yet she couldn't look away. She felt herself stare, in a most indelicate way. She could almost envision her face, greedily scanning the details of him, soaking them up like so many clues to a mystery.
He had an air about him, like the soft hum of a lightbulb at bursting point or the inaudibly pitched drone of a television screen. The kind of sound one sensed rather than heared. Her body seemed attuned to it in the most remarkable way, humming along, shivering.
The artificial bell chimed from somewhere inside the lift's speakers, and the wooden panels slid open to make way for more commuters hopping and shuffling inside. A tall thin woman with the sort of smile that seemed to have been created by a botox mishap crammed herself inbetween her and the stranger, and she immediately felt disconnected.
And finally able to tear her eyes away from him. As she did, she noticed other people in the elevator with her: the fat man from the accountancy agency on the third floor, well above his own level; and a young girl with a dress seemingly made out of candy wrappers. She smiled at the girl, but the girl only started past her, lost in thought.
When the elevator bell chimed again, and more people made their way into the overcrowded box, she noticed he was gone.
The shiver returned, like a pinprick in her neck. He was gone - so how could it be she still sensed him?