Tuesday, August 30, 2016


The woman took a drag on her cigarette, then exhaled into the cold air around her, snow lightly falling from above, resting on the shoulders of her coat.

"I suppose," she said, as she shifted her legs, trying to find a comfortable position on the cold park bench, "we don't really ever know another person, we only know what they want us to know."

She took another drag.

"You just have to hope that, what you know about them, and what they know about you, all jives together in the end. I think that's what love is. It's not wholeness. It's accepting the pieces."

She got up, then, grabbing her purse and slowly shuffling towards the station. Some snowflakes were nestled in her hair. She didn't seem to mind.

"My train is here," she said, as she turned to glance at me over her shoulder, "have a nice day."

I watched her walk to the station, the blare of the train's horn smothering the sounds of traffic and the city around me. I leaned back on the bench and stared at the grey sky above. The snow continued to fall.

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