The guy starts to stand up but the gentle but stubborn weight of her face and flowing hair seems to pin him in his seat with a formidable gravity. She stubbornly buried her face into his neck and draws his eyes shut like a nurse drawing a curtain to hide a howling bedridden patient.
After a while she relents and he stands up with her. They walk solemnly to the platform and he sets the bag down and they hug one last time. He helps put the bag on her bag but her eyes never leave him. He kisses her on the forehead and turns away. She seemed like she wanted to scream, she bit her bottom lip so hard I thought she was going to draw blood. Instead, tears poured down her cheeks in a relentless stream. One following the next until it was constant. She didn’t wipe her face. What was the use? She stood there, a matyr to forces uncontrollable. Like a petrified statue of stone for all to see. Not a statue of liberty but a lighthouse to the damned. I didn’t see what happened next. It was all a bit too sad. I figured I was tired of standing here and so I went and bought an economist to read on my bus to providence.