At 6:10 I closed the door. No suitcase. Just your old address inside my coat. The morning hadn’t decided what color to become. I walked three blocks without looking back. For once, I wasn’t remembering you. I was going to find you. At 6:10 I left the light on. No suitcase. Just the name of the street where you once lived. The station smelled of rain and metal. I bought a ticket with shaking hands. For once, I wasn’t missing you. I was going to find you. One train north. One train south. One empty seat. One window blurred with rain. I thought— This time— I won’t be late. I won’t be late. We left at the same time. Under the same gray morning. Carrying nothing but the courage we should have had before. I was coming to you. I was coming to you. And somewhere between departure and arrival, the distance did something strange. The closer I came to where you had been, the farther I was from you. Your city appeared behind wet glass. Your city appeared beneath morning fog. I knew the bridge from your stories. I knew the corner from a photograph. I walked faster. So did I. I reached your door— I reached yours— and someone else answered. How long ago? They didn’t know. Where did you go? They couldn’t say. Did you leave anything? Only a room that no longer looked like mine. Did you? Only a light someone else had learned to turn on. I came. [Male] I came too. You weren’t there. Neither were you. We left at the same time. Maybe that’s enough for tonight. Not every love that misses its destination has failed. You chose me. I chose you. For one morning, across two opposite roads, we finally did the same brave thing. And though we never met— for the first time it wasn’t fear that kept us apart. I turned around. So did I. The road was empty. Mine too. But somewhere… you had come for me.
