On the Q train back home, I saw somebody who reminded me of you. Grey pants, battered vans, soft worn sweater, plaid shirt collars stiffly raised. He wore black rimmed glasses, a hair cut kind of awkward, and he had your determined look on his face: a look that held all the ambition in the world. It was a look of quiet confidence, stubborn discipline, lucid reason driven by a brilliant intellect. It spoke of the determination— no, the need- to do things above and beyond, to go places, to create something, to be extraordinary. It was a look that I thought belonged only to you. He got off at my stop, and I hurried out to see where he would go. But he surged ahead, took a turn, disappeared, and i remembered all the things that made me sad. because your look, the look that i fell for, the world that it spoke of— is yours and yours alone. and I will always be on the fringes looking in, trying to catch up, wishing you could hear me say, honey, come home.

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