The train was sparsely filled. An elder couple, they must have celebrated their fiftieth anniversary not too long ago, sat a person apart from each other slightly dozing off. Both were holding D'agostino bags, one in each hand. As the subway screeched and they got up to exit he reached for one of her bags. It made no sense, or I should say, it made more sense for them to split the four bags evenly yet, he reached for it. With no words exchanged she pulled away but his agression succeeded and he stepped off holding three bags while she stepped off swinging one.
At the outset, the couple appeared detached. However, after all those years, few words are left but the love, the insensible love, is still there...
"When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots are so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away." -anonymous.