in the pocket of your jeans.
The rain is pouring, and you're running. She's falling behind while you grab hold of her hand to make her catch up. She's not anxious to get there, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be. She knows it, but she's been telling herself it's a lie. That all you need is 3 strides behind you wearing your favorite green dress and killing her feet in her best shoes. However the concrete sidewalks splash dirty water all over them and you never even stopped to notice her outfit. Whipping around corners, and dodging people, you both hear the sounds of engines turning and people boarding. Music to you and deafening to her, nevertheless she's still gripping your hand as if the imprint of her palm might persuade you to stay. The danger you're facing, the people who may kill you are more anticipated than any Christmas ever was, and all she's imagining is you lying dead somewhere- with a pocket full of unread love-letters and the number of some other woman.
You turn to say a quick, but not too hasty, goodbye so that she might feel a little more at ease. And just before you turn to get onto your train you hear "I love you" and just like a coward, you step onto the platform only saying "me too."
You turn to say a quick, but not too hasty, goodbye so that she might feel a little more at ease. And just before you turn to get onto your train you hear "I love you" and just like a coward, you step onto the platform only saying "me too."