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I just pray she lives at the end of the line or at the very least way past my station. The playing field alters dramatically when the train brakes unexpectedly coming into a station. Everyone is thrown forward with the inertia. Instinctively I put my arm around the lady to prevent her from falling. Just for a second she looks up at me. I look back our eyes meeting and I feel I might have caused offence, until she mouths a “Thank you!” And she smiles, that beautiful smile. Through dark pink full painter lips I now long to kiss! I am now so wholly captivated it is only after we start picking up speed again as we leave the station behind that I realise my arm is still around her. Impulse is a wonderful thing. It lets you do things without having first to weigh up the consequences. Standing probably no more than five-four in height the collar of her dark woollen coat presents itself fractionally below my chin almost hidden by the proliferation of what I would think is natural. My mother gave me a kiss on the lips. At the moment I didn't think of it as sexual, as I'm sure she also didn't think that but it was another line crossed that would eventually lead to it. As we got ready to sleep, Ella asked me if I could sleep in her bed with her, as she didn't want to feel lonely. I obliged. And so we went through the first week of her break up like that. She would ask me to sleep on the bed with her, give me a small peck on the lips and ask me to cuddle her until she fell asleep. Through the day at school and at home she would cry but as the week went by it was less and less until she stopped. I always did my best to distract her, going to the gym, running, playing, doing housework and everything else. I started to see in her a different look and I felt she was looking at me in a different way. I thought then that I was just hallucinating, the way her looks lingered on me, the way she talked and touched me were a little more flirtatious, her cuddling became.
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