Arrival or Departure

The station smelled of wet wool, stale coffee and cigarettes. I stood at the platform. I had arrived on time,
stayed behind the line,
I did the right things-
chivalrous things.
I stood tall -
patient.
I held the gesture in my hands.
Hands now cold and pricked with thorns.
But my eyes wandered,
my body heated inside my coat.
It was her-
the woman from the bar the other night.
She said she’d leave him and now I was witnessing her making a clean break for it.
My mind told me to stay-
be obedient.
My body edged closer.
I no longer cared about arrivals.
I craved departure.
I craved her!