I’m trying to imagine what would happen if tomorrow I boarded the train that takes you to work, sat down on the hopefully empty seat next to yours, placed – among all the people that might be watching your uneasy surprise and my jolly trespassing – the letter in your hands – the letter written to me in your words and with your name signed, the letter that tells it through you as I see it: your denial to acknowledge any feeling for me, the explanation of those glances, the happiness you felt in those moments spent together when we were in perfect tune, the glow on your face and in your eyes, the gleeful exchange of easy banter, the absorption that made us forget the world around. Would you wash your hands of all this, laugh it off as all in my imagination and send me off, once again, coolly, with some pedestrian greeting? Or would you admit that you’ve been lying all along – for whatever rational logic?
But perhaps it’s better to leave everything as it is – suppressed, puzzling, frustrating, ignored, lopsided.
I could be wrong.
The task from Café Writing was to pick at least three of the following words and build a piece of writing around them.
I chose all the words: greeting, hands, imagine, leave, letter, people, train, trespassing, washing.