me and you on the train, perfectly comfortable with the silence enveloping us, save for the flipping of the pages as we trough through our books.

 

you not missing a beat and offering your shoulder as i closed my book, guessing i was tired without as much me passing you a glance. 

 

you and me on the train, my face plastered in the little nook between your shoulder and neck, breathing in your scent, resting my soul.

 

you, arm filled with pins and needles. and yet, not bringing yourself to wake me up.