A Single Moment

I was alone, my only company the acrid curl of smoke from the tip of my cigarette, when you slid into my life. There was a screech, a shudder, and suddenly you were there, your face level with mine, our aimless gazes haphazardly meeting. Even through the glass I could feel your piercing eyes switch focus to me and momentarily soften, and I saw your lips, pale and thin, crease ever so slightly upwards. I wanted so much to return the gesture, but my face was frozen, my eyes locked into yours, my own lips jammed shut. And then, the moment was gone: your eyes loosened their grip on me and wandered away, to the trees which stood behind me, brittle and stripped of their leaves, and the distant, looming spectre of encroaching clouds. My head dropped, and I felt another shudder as the train recommenced its journey, having completed its unfateful sojourn. When I looked up you were gone, the only sign you were ever here a distant wisp of smoke.