I was sitting in the train
reading Bukowski (who else?)
when a man got in at the next station and sat down near me.
He wasn’t much older than me, maybe 25
I looked out of the window and caught his reflection
looking at me and for a moment there
we just looked at each other in the mirror produced by the night.
Despite his young appearance I couldn’t help but wonder
what kind of life he led
he looked like he knew what it meant to go through shitty
I felt his nervous energy so when he finally got up
I knew he was coming to talk to me.
“Hello, I am an artist from Bratislava… well,
artist as in art, music, performance…”
he stared out the window and I found myself following his gaze
“A little bit of everything” he concluded while smiling nervously.
He gave me his card and I took it
nodding to the sound of his now even voice.
It was a crappy card
but I respected him deeply as his courage to come up and
talk about the thing he loved most in the world
Although I’ve never seen him in the train since,
I keep his card in my purse
as a way of expressing my silent appreciation and a
to always follow my dreams.