Pancake Brain

I’ve been home sick for going on three days now.

I’m going a little stir crazy.

But somehow, despite how wretched I am feeling, all I want to do is eat pancakes.

I have no appetite for anything other thanĀ pancakes.

So far I have eaten them twice a day, in various forms.

That’s a lot of pancakes.

I have also been collecting pictures of pancakes on Pinterest.

Thats how obsessed I am.

Please, send help.

Boy On A Train

It was an average dinner. The food was average, the conversation was average.

The walk to the restaurant was average. The walk back to the train was average.

It was average weather. On an average Friday night.

She found the train details on the illuminated screen easily enough.

She walked down the stairs and straight through the open double doors of the unremarkable train.

She sat down, tried to find her headphones, cursed under her breath, tried once more to locate the white cord amongst her many other possessions.

Headphones in, music up, head up, survey of the area.

Seated in the section of seatsĀ opposite, a friendly smile on an average Friday night.

A friendly smile returned, head down, settled in for the short ride home.

There is always the feeling, when eyes linger.

Something in our minds says ‘there are eyes on you’. A whisper begging us to track the stare.

A friendly smile, caught again, then quickly turned away.

The reflection in the darkened glass, as the train speeds away, shows the smile still lingers on his face.

The eyes above the smile search for my reflection in the glass.

I can’t help but smile at that. At the obviousness of it all.

I look out my own window, watching the lights flashing past and see his head turn back in my direction.

My eyes focused on the glass, I see him smile at me again.

I can’t help but return the smile, in the glass, a short blush flashing across my face.

And so it went, back and forwards for five stations. People getting on and people getting off.

Smiles, eyes and reflections.

It never seems to lead to anything, these simple smiles, flirty though they may be, are temporary at best.

The seats around me are crowded now, I can barely see him through the people standing in the aisles.

But every now and then, through the winter coats and the broadsheets, a smile.

I laugh to myself. Return my attention to my music and stare out the window at the lights.

The reflection lets me see him moving. Getting ready to get off at the next station, I assume.

Then, while music plays in my ears, he says something to the two sitting opposite me.

I see them rise, a smile on their lips, an awkward shuffle to swap seats to those across the aisle.

A smile, sitting in front of me, introducing himself, on an average Friday night.