I made the effort from the train
And hit the platform
With my right foot first and then
My left.

The sun streaked through the rafters
Down onto the pavement, warming the hair on my head,
My skin, my face, my lips.
There were people everywhere only paying attention
To themselves and their things.

A train whistle erupted. I jumped.
A tall man, thin and grinning, laughed. He tipped
His cap to me. His shoulder leaned into the chipped wood
Of a café's doorway. People were struggling to get through.
Old men leaned on their elbows through the bay window
Sipping coffee whose steam curled up into their wide nostrils.
I figured the tall, thin, grinning, laughing, leaning man
Owned the place. He was such a presence.

He said something in French and reached out for my bag
(I think he was trying to help me carry them)
But I waved him off and revealed my watch,
The universal sign of "I am very ******* late".
The tall thin man stepped back, laughed again, and
Continued to lean on the doorway blocking traffic.

I trotted down a flight of stairs
And then up a flight of stairs, turned a corner,
To only go up another flight of stairs.
The arm holding my bag was numb while my breath
Was as short as the midgets I came upon on the street once
I had exited the train station.
They were juggling bowling pins,
Singing Edith Piaf's "Padam Padam".
Their voices were not very good, not well-trained,
But the sight made up from their vocal cords.

I dropped my suitcase in the taxi line.
The heat of the sun and the thick smog of cars
Washed over me like paint.
The sounds of the city brought back memories.
I stepped forward.

Soon, I would be home.
Soon, I would be in bed.
Soon, I would be with Him.
Soon, I would be as close to love
As I could get.

As I could ever be.

As I hoped I ever will.