We wait with suitcases twice our size and refuse help from the handsome stranger,
We’ve got it.
We just keep saying,
“We’ve got it.”
Maybe we believe it to be true
or just hope saying something enough times cements reality.
I don’t know why everything feels so much heavier in a crowd,
Faces we don’t know buzzing by with backpacks
and exhausted eyes,
Faces we won’t ever get to know
kissing other faces,
reunions and hugs that feel so intimate,
It’s as if we’re privy to a moment far too sacred
so we look away.
We look other places.
We look at our hands
or overpriced magazine.
We look at horizons and distant city lights.
We look anywhere
that momentarily lets us forget