she called this afternoon. you know, the one i’m always writing about. the conversation began slowly, each side curious to know how the other would react. “how are you, it’s been a while?” she says, while the inside of my stomach begins to stir. “i’m fine, nothing new.” we speak for thirteen minutes. she feels that she has grown tiresome of her friends. she believes she is comfortable, but unlike everyone around her. i spew lackluster advice and sympathize with her. lucky for us, we are both saved by her friend who i was told “is walking to the car.” that signaled the end of our conversation, she had to go. we both hang up the phone  unsure if she should of called, and if i should of answered. we will not know, and no understanding will ever be so clear. as i board the next train, i make eye contact with an attractive girl with straight ***** rose colored hair. she doesn’t smile. my shins shiver waiting on the side of the track. something below 10 degrees with a strong wind chill. one of the coldest nights of the year is what i’ve been told. to think of her warm and safe far away, sheltered. she’s probably already forgotten the words that we exchanged on our phone call. all that’s left is a name in a log, adjacent to a time frame delineating the minutes strangers spent discussing any thing that made them feel familiar, but nothing could be found.