His hand finds its way to her back, large enough that it almost covers her left shoulder blade.
I wonder if she notices how he does that every time the train arrives at or leaves a station,
As if his palm is her resting place, just in case she falls backwards whenever the train jerks forwards.
His eyes gently grazes the translucence of her skin, and his fingers intertwines with her hair.
I wonder if she notices.
—
His mouth hangs wide open as his head rubs against the previous passengers’ hair stain on the window.
His shirt crumpled from a day’s work, and yet neatly buttoned and tucked in.
I wonder if he notices the frown on his forehead that is so prominent even in his sleep,
As if he is perpetually worried about his work, or family, or
Maybe beneath that worn-out work attire, he has a heart that is longing for his wife and children at home.
I wonder if he notices that.
—
Her hair falls almost perfectly upon her fair shoulders — brown, big curls, beautiful-kinda messy.
The near perfection is the most fascinating sight.
I wonder if she notices the beauty in her eyes, and the elegance in her poise, as she lifts her eyes to look at her text.
Her slender fingers curls around her phone, and the subtle purse of her lips.
She might not believe that she’s a beauty, but I wonder if she has yet to notice that she is.
—
She rests her hand on his elbow, as his hand holds onto the steely cold pole.
As if she trusted more in his strength, than the sturdiness of her sole.
I wonder if he notices that she dressed up and made up for him,
clad in an electric blue dress that brought out her best.
I wonder if he notices.
Because I noticed all of these, and I’m glad I did.
That amidst the busyness of life, the bustle and shoving on the train,
I noticed beauty and love in you, strangers.
And I hope you’ll notice that beauty in yourselves too.
byamandagrace 