TRAGIC Poem: 2:00, by Phoenix Turner

It is currently one thirty on a Thursday afternoon.
The whirring sounds of trains coming and going and people moving like busy bees fills my ears.
But, I am here on a mission.
To take you out to lunch and tell you for the four hundred and fiftieth time how much I love you.

Four hundred and fifty.

I know it is not common for people to keep track how many times they say the phrase,
but it’s worth keeping track.
It’s worth keeping track because I can watch the number grow as each day passes by.
When I see your face it will be four hundred and fifty one times since I first said it.

It is only a lunch date, but I feel like every date with you is worth waiting for.
I know when you step off that train you will look beautiful as always.
You won’t be wearing anything too fancy,
just jeans and a shirt but still beautiful.
Meanwhile, I’m waiting here
admittedly overdressed for the occasion with flowers in hand.

The ring box is safe in my pocket,
ready for your arrival.
When I propose it will be the four hundred and fifty second time I say I love you.
I probably look like a fool,
waiting for you like this,
but, I would do anything for you.

It is finally two o’ clock.
The train arrives right on time.
I stand up ready to give you your flowers and say that simple phrase that means so much.
Tons of people walk past,
men, women, children.
Old and young.
Tall and short.
But,
none of them are you.

Where are you?

I check my phone for a text or a call with no luck.
Maybe you’re running late.
The system is always unpredictable.

I wait.

Two thirty arrives.
You haven’t.
Many trains have come and gone,
I have counted and it is at least ten.
I am getting worried.

I am worried.

I text you again.
This time asking if you were upset.
If I had done something wrong.

I wait.

Two forty-five arrives.
Nothing.

I wait some more.

Waiting for a sign you have arrived.
Or a sign that you are alive.

It is now three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon.

I am here.

Still waiting for you.

Where are you?