To The Woman on the Metro

She was only on for one stop

But her eyes froze time

Draped in midnight with matching hair,

A thin neck adorned with simple relics

Yet the collarbone showed quiet royalty.

Her hands wrapping around a red rubber band

Frantic

Or graceful

I cannot tell.

Her eyes were invading,

Searching my face for all its slight distinctions

With intimate care

Taking note to not miss details

Cheekbones

Wrinkles

Scars

Before quickly darting down the rest of the train car when exposed.

Silently waiting, to escape from this moment of intense connection

That would very well crush the bones of the other

But,

the doors open

and her shadow fades

before she does

And her silhouette is all that remains

Always Returning

This is it. Standing in the airport, watching them all go. As do I, back home. With new ideas, and ink. New York was proof, that the person I’m becoming is not only tolerated, but welcomed by the world. And by myself.

To operate in a space freely, using my camera to do what? To show that God is everywhere. There’s work to be done, so much work. Each day needs to be used to the fullest. Don’t forget what you have learned here: