half-awake

A lady sits across from me —
eyes closed, head leaning
on her clear reflection.

I wake up to darkness. My days start
when everyone else’s ends.

We’re half-awake on this train.
Some of us going home, most hustling.

Neon signs blur past, too fast
for my tired eyes to track.

I want things to last so I avoid clean endings.
I push, accumulate, stay for as long as I can.
I can’t afford loss so I never begin again.

I feel out of tune. My day ends
when it begins.

I snap back — doors are closing.
The lady is gone.

I missed my stop.
Again.