நடைமேடை

it has been so long — i'll see you in a little while, i tell myself. like morning sun chasing away cold, the distant horn of the train banishes my laziness and pulls my mind into flutter. i stand guessing which coach you might step out from. before the train even stops, i lose patience — pick up my phone and call you. why this turbulent joy? is it you i'm waiting for? or the version of me that only shows up when you're around? — haka