I wasn’t her man…

Sunday morning, at the cafè I sat
And as I slurped my coffee, she made a face
Quite some etiquette she carried, as she munched away her croissant
Without slurping the coffee, sipped it with a grace.

Now, you need to know, how beautiful she looks
When she tucks her hair, her earrings tingle
While gazing into her magazine, stirs her coffee
When she hums a song from radio, or from a TV, a jingle.

She looked with her eyes penetrating through
Her lips thick, some whispers she blew
I couldn’t focus on what she was speaking
Some good news? At work? But she was happy I knew.

As i took my last sip, and paid the bill
She swung her backpack, caressed her new hairdo
Together we headed towards the busy subway
I punched my token, caught her doing too.

She pointed out to the baby, baby on the train
She clapped her hands, so happy
But just then gave a little frown, I laughed
‘Cause I knew, the baby had to change her nappy.

Throughout the ride she talked, talked so much
People threw looks, what do they know?
Of the songs? Of the melody? In her voice.
She told her stories, within which new stories would grow.

Everytime she would look at me
I would lose a breath to her, everytime
She would realise it, and would look out of train
For a while. If she didnt smile, it seemed like a crime.

She rested her head on the shoulders
Entwined her fingers and kissed the palm
The paint of her lips, she would wipe
Her eyes blue as ocean, make my heart go calm.

My heart aches as I now realise her destination is around now, I go back in time now.
She had the coffee, she boarded the train, she pointed out to the baby, she sung her stories, she made heart calm, she kissed the palm, showed her love as much as she can,
But I… I wasnt who she was with. She was with someone else the whole time. Sadly, I was just a by-passenger. I wasn’t her man.