You were waiting on the platform one foot lingering over the yellow strip that warned commuters to stand back as trains entered and left the station. I admired you from the afar, as your mind danced around to the music being strummed by the nearby performers. You were wearing a pair of worn out chucks; this told a lot about your character. You loved men who didn’t give you any worth, you wore your chucks to walk home after a long night of drinking, walks that usually departed from the home of men who you engaged in casual sex with. You were used up, tossed around, chewed up, and spat out.

I walked up to you, “I like your shoes”
--You looked at me in utter disgust; you stood there, ignoring my presence, no response.

You craved conversation, as did I, but you were scared; scared of being used up, tossed around, chewed up, and spat out. I mean who could have blamed you; it’s all you’ve ever known.

The train approached the platform, it wasn’t my train, but I got on anyway.
I sat three seats away from you; I watched your body language. You were thinking, as was I.

I envisioned engaging in conversations about how the world is nothing but a mere fraction of our imagination, as we drank coffee. You liked yours black, no sugar. I liked mine with half and half with two sugars. You would take casual pauses to take a sip of your coffee, leaving an array of indistinguishable lipstick stains on your mug.

--“The next stop is Greenpoint Avenue” , you stood up and waited by the door.

My head was at war, I knew you needed saving, I knew you needed love, I knew I could show you a whole new world. You needed someone who would seduce your mind, rather than your body.

--“This is Greenpoint Avenue, the next stop is Nassua Avenue”

You exited the train, chucks and all, as I watched you make your way through the crowd.

--“Stand clear of the closing doors please”

I was no hero.