I saw you at the Métropolitain.
Right in the epicenter of the Parisian inferno.
Enclosed around the masses of drained souls
with that air of gracefulness and intellectuality that made you distinctive from the rest of mortals.
I glimpsed at you in the metro in a gloomy winter morning.
Your cerulean eyes fixed at the poetry book your snowy long fingers were holding,
and you floated as if you were in an altar despite the congestion.
Suddenly a thousand questions crossed my mind.
Why did you leave me?
How often does my memory crosses your mind? Do you still enjoy kissing girls in little cafés and then breaking their hearts?
Nonetheless I couldn’t articulate a single word,
I was content by simply staring at you from afar.
Even to this day I still don’t know if you saw me,
If you were fully aware of the heaviness of my stare from the other side of the wagon.
Maybe you couldn’t take a glimpse of my eyes for the fear of not knowing what you could find in them.
I conformed myself by just admiring your subhuman beauty in the same way I would admire a masterpiece.
Who would have ever imagined this would be our casual reencounter after the storm?
Two stations later you displaced yourself floating around the multitude towards the exit.
And there I was a bit star struck and melancholic staring at your empty seat from the other side of the wagon.
Written by Manuela Paz