A grey cloud of business suits
expands and contracts on the platform.
Conversations, half-grasped through rainfall,
tell me all is well in worlds
I don't care about.

They pass and disappear quickly.
All hands and bags and phones
and feigning nonchalance about their seat
and who, in the next two hours of their lives,
will be forced into their Living Space.

They leave the platform bare,
just a few stragglers, and the
anachronism of the Guard, whistle in hand,
watching the time tick down
until, like clockwork, the train moves off again.

An unmoving figure stares into the train.
He doesn't seem to mind the rain,
despite his lack of coat. A warm smile
just a little forced. A 'Goodbye'.
Real and human and anonymous.

Whose is the face that mirrors his behind the glass?
Such warmth and love from those eyes. And tears?
Or just the rain drops falling to the track.
A face that tries to reassure - 'We'll be ok',
it says. And means it. But first, the pain,

The agony of two souls joined, now torn apart.