The Man on the Train

          He sat on the train with nothing more than the tattered shirt on his back, blue faded jeans, old work boots, and a rose clenched lightly in his rough hands. He never spoke once, but his pale blue eyes had told all. This wasn't his first train ride, and we both knew it. What brought him here was unknown, but his awkward posture cheated him of his most intimate secrets. It was clear he was a no body. He owned no possessions; he had no purpose in life. The next stop was his, and though I wasn't supposed to get off for another hour or so, his presence was intriguing, and it drew me in like a honey bee to a ravishing daffodil. It was plain to see he had nowhere to go, and no one to see, but there was determination washing off of him onto the aged, crumbling sidewalk. He wandered the city for what seemed like hours, when finally, he stopped in front of a blanketed shelter containing a woman outside of a shopping mall. She was trembling, and covered in goose bumps caused by the chilled spring breeze. She looked up at him, and he gave her the rose. I heard him speak for the first time that day, and by his awkward posture I knew he knew not of her, but the words he spoke that day will be engraved into my memory for eternity. I believe in you. You are beautiful inside and out, and I love you. Her eyes watered and her lips parted slightly, as though she were going to say something. She was unable to muster up words, but instead stood up and nodded at him. She walked away with a stride of confidence, and bounce in her step as though she had a renewed purpose in life.