Train Stories – Runaground?

6am and there’s only the faintest light from the bedroom curtains.

Unusually, I made it upstairs last night.  A conscious choice as I badly needed an early night and the previous night on the sofa I’d woken up freezing at 3am.

Winter is definitely on its way.

I’d been lying on my right side on my usual left-hand side of the bed sprawling towards the centre.

For some crazy reason in my sleep I had put my arm across but there was no one there.

No warm body to cuddle.

No hair to avoid on the pillow.

No neck to kiss.

Or breast to caress.

Once upon a time, I’d avoid her hair,  moving it gently aside so as not to wake her,  then softly press my body against hers, my hand cupping her breast as I’d kiss her neck.

Sometimes she’d briefly wake up and pull my arm around her, kiss my hand then fall back asleep.

Sometimes she’d turn to kiss me, then we’d lie in that half sleep together,  dozy, tired, warm, content.

Sometimes my morning stiffness would grow between the cheeks of her bottom, the warmth of her body pressing against me arousing my passion.

Sometimes she would notice and press a little harder then move her hips just a little, feeling my stiffness grow against her.

I’d push her hair away and kiss her or she would turn her neck to kiss me and we’d make love in the half-light before the alarm told us it was time to go.

But who listens to alarms at times like these?

Right now, it’s 6am and there’s no one there and the bed feels too big for one.

I almost wrote too big without her,  but she’s never been here,  those memories are from long ago.

And although I don’t miss her, I miss that closeness.

But it’s not just the closeness,  it’s that certain knowledge that she’d be here tomorrow and the day after and all the days after that.

I’m sure you would miss it too.

8am and sitting on the train,  the window seat of my 6-seat booth, keying the above into my iPhone.

Some other guy is sitting on the aisle seat,  but the train is busy and a third guy squeezes into the small gap between.

He’s not particularly big,  but the booths aren’t designed for 3 fully grown men sitting side by side.

I can feel the warmth of his thigh pressing against mine.

But it’s the wrong kind of warmth!

I considered calling this story – The Wrong Kind Of Warmth,   But I’m currently playing James in my headphones – Runaground – the lyrics just seem to fit and can’t wait to see them at The Hydro soon.

For every woman you will leave an open door
You find yourself thinking why can’t I have more?
You say there’s nothing you can do
You tried your best, but you were only being you

Oh, no, she’s gone
Back wherever she came from
You watched her go
Your reaction is far too slow

Runaground

You don’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it all
Might I suggest you find a softer place to fall
You take for granted all the riches of your world
You may have oysters, but you’ll never find a pearl

Oh, no, she’s gone
Back wherever she came from
You watched her go
Your reaction is far too slow

Runaground

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