I’m taking the train home and the strange faces are like flashing lights or signposts. They are provoking feelings in me that I don’t care for when the day is done. My eyes dart from passenger to passenger and I try not to focus on anyone too long before they send my mind spiralling. I see a man with his dry cleaning. I see a woman with her hair like coils cut short. I see a man in a dress shirt with his hair stuck glisteningly to his scalp. I am thinking about how I am wary of boys and men with slicked back hair in ponytails. They make me pull at my collar whenever I speak to them. The subway sometimes has poetry on the advertisement panels and today there’s a poem that has your name in it. It says that you are cruel, but only because you are leaving. I begin to think of coming home to you. I begin to think of coming home to find you gone with the drawers empty of your belongings. I wonder if I would find you cruel then, but the adjective never sits well next to your name in my mind. Your name gives way only to my heart as an open flame and it burns only the lovely words for you. So I think of all the other ways to place or drop or spell your name into poetry and all the other people disappear like shadows vanishing past sunset.