Unspoken Stop

Across the aisle, a head bent,

just the profile, then turned,

and I saw it:

the small, soft curve

where the hair met the skin.

A single curl, dark against his collar,

just like it always was,

just like I remembered.

He shifted, the slight hunch

of his shoulders, a familiar weight.

I knew that posture.

He was looking out the window,

and I was looking at him,

not daring to speak, not daring

to break the fragile peace

of us both being there,

and yet not.

Then the bell rang,

and he rose, moving

down the aisle, a stranger

and a ghost, leaving me

with just the ghost

of a question.