“Did you think it was a date…” Pt. I

It’s a cold Sunday night, one of the coldest. I feel it creeping through the creases of my shoes, though I have this burning sensation in my left foot like a furnace has been taken to it.

I’m standing by the platform at West Acton station heading east chasing the midnight moon to achieve my dreams.

The top button of the black trench coat my uncle got me before he left for Sweden last winter, fell off. I caught it in the midst of sleep on my journey here, my mum could fix it I mindlessly say while slipping the button into my pocket. Blue Fenchurch hoodie tucked underneath for warmth, sleeves reaching over my knuckles, the hood cracking out at the collar snuggled around a grey scarf wrapped around my neck.

I turn to the waiting room behind me, bright almost dazzling light bouncing off the caramel painted wooden bench. “I brought her here before…” I pause, slight nostalgia remembering a grey fog covering the scene of my memory, “ah! Yes, we walked right up those stairs, a few steps to sit in this waiting room. Her white dotted grey jeans jacket gripping her figure like it was a tight dress. She sat right there.”

Right underneath the lights I envision her phantom, legs crossed in the way that women do, hands in pockets of her jeans jacket and she’s making that face where she knows that I’m watching, not like normal, captivated even, and she knows it as she smirks and rolls her eyes to the side as if to say, “What is he doing!”

“I know, I know.” I think in my head, shoulders shrugging, “I just can’t help it, you’re so beau…”

“Take a seat!” She moans out load, breaking the silent tension of our bodies conversing.

I hear the racking of metal against railway tracks, my trains approaching as the sound sneaks me out of reminiscing…