I read the words:
"It's not impossible that they fell in love. They were both past the age of foolish passion, so they were passionate without being fools"
-(Michael Chabon's 'The Yiddish Policeman's Union')
and in that moment I see the seats opposite me taken by a man & a woman; they are older, much older than me & yet there is a glow about them that lies beyond the ruddy cheeks of Autumns kiss. The pair of them smiling & giddy, the woman wriggles her hand into his with eager excitement as if on a cold day, as if with the love that has brewed long enough to no longer hesitate but has not grown cold & awkward. These people seem not to have lost a drop of love in all the years they've been together & I wonder how long it's been; twenty, thirty years?
I look again at the words I have just read, their ink on my memory still wet. I smile; eyes that reflect the sorrows of a long life lived & yet etched around each in wrinkles of joy I see that these people have known as much happiness, if not more. They laugh & smile & the man holds the woman's hand tightly, happily, lovingly in his. I can't recall the last time I saw 2 people so in love. They smile & talk & too soon my stop arrives & I watch their light disappear along the train tracks.
:-)
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