To that guy from the 7 train
and then, if memory serves, the 6
-This was over two years ago-
To that guy who talked to me
for what, twenty minutes
maybe a bit more
I want you to understand.
Because your recent visits
to my linkedin profile
(the only social media that leaves fingerprints)
that perhaps I am still on your mind.
There was never going to be anything romantic between us.
Not ever: I didn’t live there;
I wasn’t staying; I had a different crush;
I was never, ever going to start something with a guy
I met on the subway.
It’s not my way.
But perhaps, you might say, perhaps
despite all that, we could have been friends
and maybe, you might say, with a slightly wounded look
maybe that’s all you wanted in the first place.
I will tell you why we are not friends.
We are not friends because you changed your opinions
to match mine, and I didn’t trust you.
We are not friends because when we talked
you leaned one hand high against the wall of the train
and held the pole I was holding with the other,
effectively trapping me in the corner
and you were much bigger than me
and I was uneasy.
We are not friends because you followed me
from one train to another, even though you’d told me
you were headed in a different direction.
We are not friends because it didn’t occur to you
that I might find it unsettling that you followed me
to that second train.
We are not friends because even though the 6
was packed literally to the gills, and I was the
person who could fit,
your weight in
such that every single person in the car
was jostled to fit you.
We are not friends because I was worried
about what would happen when I got off the train.
If you would follow me then, too.
If you would dog me until you got my number.
I gave you an email address instead, forgetting
that my name was attached to the account.
I didn’t know how to just say
because you didn’t seem like you knew how to hear it.
I want to be very clear.
I didn’t think you were going to kill me.
I didn’t think you were going to rape me.
But that’s not the point.