I was waiting for the 7:52, I was on the platform on the opposite side from you. I could see your chest heaving heavily in anticipation, of a day that would bring you nothing but deflation. Each intake of breath a fight just to stay alive, and not step forward and let the train turn you out from the inside.
We stand united for a moment, just us alone, our eyes catch each other's and then drain away, back to our phones. The trains whistle in, whistle out, and woosh by, I never got the obituary, but I'm certain I have already died.