The Lady in White

Elegant, with a hint of smile,
draped in floral white,
her shoes whispered grace
to the rhythm of the train.

She sat across from me,
immersed in a world of words,
a phone open in her hand,
though her eyes spoke elsewhere.

A quick glance—
and the silence between us deepened.
Her hair, black and flowing to her hips,
fell in waves like unspoken secrets;
a single silken strand twirled
between her patient fingers.

Then her voice—
soft, quiet,
as though it belonged to another realm.
Even in half-heard phrases
it wrapped the air in gentleness,
the kind of sound
that lingers longer than touch.

Serene,
she was beauty made flesh,
adorned only by the shimmer
of a modest ring—
a diamond, steady as truth,
hinting at a life beyond my reach.

Yet in that fleeting moment,
as steel carried us forward,
she was divine—
a vision suspended in motion.
I longed to step into her world,
where a smile or a word
might lead to forever.

But the train kept moving,
carrying us both toward other destinies,
leaving only a memory—
the fleeting touch of beauty,
the lady in white,
forever almost mine.