One Hail Mary, Then Let's Go Out

before, we would sit on the train together and pretend to be in love - just for the tourists. your arm around me. my hand on your thigh. i'd tell a story to the tourist and you'd stare passionately at me. you'd tell a story to the tourist and i'd stare admiringly at you, a quick look back to the tourist, just checking in, right back to your lips. then you would say your goodbyes and depart at your stop. me and the tourist left to rear the conversation.

as the train leaves your stop the tourist addresses me. filled with envy and anguish as he gropes through two questions. could two people be more in love? can i ever find that?
the tourist slowly comes back from that place we always sent them. the bright pasture filled with life. you bounce and the bumblebees don't scare you. and the river will never stop running, and the trees will always be in bloom.
the tourist was so far off after bearing witness to a pure love that flourishes between us.

the tourist looks back at me and makes a statement of fact: "you and your boyfriend really love each other"
i correct him on our circumstances. i tell him of our wild love for one another, but remind him that we're still young. i assure the tourist i'm in love with you, and i'm almost sure you feel exactly the same way. i tell how our unfortunate dilemma roots from the sole truth to our love. we both know that once we get together there would be nobody else after. i explained gingerly to the tourist that neither of us are ready for that sort of commitment quite yet.

at the moment we preferred to stage our love on the train. we needed to remind people of that young unconditional love. a real life memo reminding folks that this rare and untamable beast may be endangered, but it's not extinct. only hard to sustain. and while it might put on a show, it rarely makes a curtain call, and never delivers an encore.