to the stunning readhead sitting across from me on the q train, with ipod earbuds in and the slightest, most captivating grin:

here we sit, two people on their morning commute, carving out our solitary spaces amongst everyone else on the train. i’m still waking up, listening to aimee mann’s “lost in space,” mouthing along to the lyrics, giving in to the music, and sneaking glances at you. once or twice you catch me, and the curve of your smile gets a little bigger, maybe recognizing that we’re both coping with the packed rush hour train in the same way, but more likely because i look ridiculous, mouthing along to a song only i can hear. your smile is so honest, so beautiful, so captivating, that i can’t look away, and have to close my eyes, really getting into the chorus of “invisible ink,” wondering what it is on your ipod that can make you smile like that. i open my eyes, asking myself how socially inappropriate it would be to just start talking to a stranger on the subway, only to find an empty seat across from me.

i’m sorry i didn’t get a chance to ask you, but i know i wouldn’t have anyway.

i guess that’s what i’m really apologizing for.