Polo Shirt Girl on a Train

I saw her first in a reflection of mirrored glass. Her stare vacant and thoughtless and perfect across rolling fields and farmland and it was a waiting purity and she was pure. She didn't have a place to go and there was nowhere she'd left and her story was a empty page to me so i could just get out the pen and start writing this rant in my head. I saw her bag and her badges and her vans and her hair and it was easy to imagine her smile and her laugh and her arms and her legs and the beating of her heart moving across crowded rooms, and her bumping into me as she passes me by and the feel of her skin at the push of the bar, and the look of her friends as they push her towards the dancefloor and the drink in her hand as it starts to spill and the way when I lose sight of her I try to look across the faces as I pretend-listen to a conversation about being alone that I am barely involved in. It's really just a lightening flash story that evolves around her as she sit's there unchanged but to me it seems real. I wish I could put a name to the face but I guess if I could it would mean conversation and I've already invented her so why ruin it. I've kind of based my life on these situations.

Let's Scratch the Surface Tonight

I laced these shoes tight for a night on the town and my feet felt like blocks skating on a pavement of ice. I stretched down my shirt to get rid of the creases and sat back and wrote names in the steam on the glass. I wish for one night I could empty my head and erase myself from this novel and start a fresh. In hindsight I would've chosen to make the mistake and spill my guts onto your vans in hope that maybe you would feel the same. I could go in the other direction with you and have people talking behind our backs and if the truth had to be known then that's what I wanted. I wanted office chairs spinning and stealing shy glances and pretending for pencils and pens just to see you. I wanted scribbles on post-it's and pinstripe compliments and 'how did it go?, you looked great up there' conversation openers. I wanted cigarette breaks where we stalled over drags just so I could memorise your perfection and take you home whole at night. I wanted whispered phone calls and broken heart confessions and movie script endings where we finally 'were', but I was weakened by being a boy. If it was now, then...