My determinded sprint lost its fume as the skid marks on the freshly born snow awakened me about my reckless driving. I had to admit, it was a moment's event since you would always put on an annoyed face when I requested you to protect yourself with the seat belt.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the luxury of wasting my time on clumsy desperation as my activity on the late period of time consisted of, chasing after a girl. Maybe tragically and perhaps dramatically, she was you.

On the mouth of the tunnel, I knew she was to be you even though I had prayed on my way that it wasn't you. But my inquiries to a higher power was not answered since her bright Mandarin Orange wool hat flashed itself in a tempting manner and disappeared behind the corner. I already lost my narcissistic examination of my recklessness as the premonition of your departure came tumbling down like the night's English snow.

The multicolored reality had turned into a black and white French Film of undiluted melancholy when we had our weekly meet in the library. The typical taste of our brushing shoulders soon took a sour turn as the invitation of the " University of Sussex " peaked out of the crease of the pages of your hard narrated fiction novel.

I didn't mean to intrude since my mind preoccupied itself to break your bouts of falling silence by something witty and a remark you would have found amusing. But I broke my weak oath of privacy as my eyes bluntly read the last lines of the ambitiously brown parchment.

You had been accepted. And somehow, I fell into the strong cracks of your hard boiled moral codes as when we departed in the evening with a touchless and warmth lacking goodbye, you didn't harbor the decency or the usual crave of gloat to gracefully inform me on the latest victory of what might have been your hardest incursion.

The prompted self, wandered around in the ever longing row of mystery novels, as I, perhaps, foolishly felt the joy of your success and at the same time, the sly idea of surprising you to knock your socks out of your feet.

I thought of your disclosure of a milestone as a habit of you that was forming over time. Which made you partially attractive.

But it all went away when my reflection in the mirror quivered his brows with a question that was hanging inches away of my consciousness like a guillotine. As if, he had picked off a scent of an uncanny possibility. The goblin of worry that hid himself in the slicks of my greasy hair with a series of nods, supporting the suspense characteristics of such an idea. A path I never suspected of you to take.

You were leaving, weren't you?

I was surprised with the adaptability of my mind since it broke the code of your mystique pressurized smiles and unusual silence. The math became cleared when I broke the speed limit and a few other offenses, hoping that the patrol officers in the highway had fallen asleep or forgot to exist.

It was no mystery nor a suspense since I failed miserably in the the test of being attracted to. Your self esteem to the respectable shadow of yourself was competent enough to work out and successfully detach the weakest link of your life, which appeared to be me, tragically.

I could imagine your hopes and dreams in a scaling pot and myself in the other one. The problem appeared to be simple as the stone weight of your self achievement easily outweighed the silly string of affection I held for you dearly. I was the skinny kid and your dreams were the fat kid on the other half of the sea saw.

The slightest glimpse of a girl, who I thought and preferred to be you, climbed onto the stale white tiled platform of the third. I suppose, I have never been pleased with the fact that, the Late 10:53 kept its name of being late as it was expected to arrive in the future pass of five more minutes.

I curled up onto the side wall and peeled through the crowd of people, occasionally bumping into the coats of them who had suspected me of being a pickpocket and didn't hesitate to push me away. I didn't and not wanted to bat an eye as the shove since my view of the supposed you was obstructed by an advert on the opening.

And I suppose it was you as my lungs caught fire, nature's first offering to the caveman, since the 10:53, in a cruel turn of events forgot its given title and entered early in the station like an unwanted guest.

All I could hear was the gas pistons of the pressurized automatic door opening and then a crystal shot of you, sitting down hastily as you pulled the hat down and too the bag in your arms.

I didn't know who he was. But certainly you liked him enough to let him hold your hands with a half drank hug.

I tasted the sour puss of jealousy and the scent of the station drunk in the grubby old clothes.

The unsuspecting even and the cruel base of the current phenomenon was too harsh to ignore since my body had last all its strength to chase after the big seated passenger carrier. And like how cruel the night was, the train didn't wither for a second to take you away from me.

You didn't delay either.

My psychological trauma which disabled my body, ended when the thrashing sound of metal brakes overwhelmed my backside. It was the 11:20 which finally decided to appear after its approximate delay of half an hour.

I figured there was no logic and cause of my waiting around anymore as the Copper on the far right side of the station detected me and already started to question the authenticity of being a passenger. I dropped some loose change with a casual 20 dollar falling out of my jacket pocket and into the soup cup of the drunk.

He could have a good night even though I couldn't.

The mental dictator of my body compensated the despairful drafts as he tried his best to establish the idea that you weren't you and the girl in the so familiar winter attire was in fact a sly match of coincidence, allowing me to cause a dramatic chase in the edge of the night.

I could lie to myself but there were no distinctive comfort when one induced some illusion he didn't believe himself.

I figured I was as blind as the night until I caught a peak of a woman who lingered around near my car. It was her face which was her only feature visible and lit in the dark hue as the dull silhouette of her body camouflaged itself with the ambiance.

I didn't examine her thoroughly. My eyes had to aver themselves as I drew near.

In the hue of the deserted parking lot, along the English snow which had sacrificed the excitement of the chase and transformed into departure. I too the woman as a late commuter even though during my slow walk and dumb observation, she didn't occupy the common acts of someone of the like.

It was most indefinitely the crisp edge of her husk cold strained voice that caught me by surprise as we passed each other.

The creases of her lips exploited the curves at " B " and the white flash of her teeth made an appearance at " T " as she uttered nothing more than a single word.

" Brighton. " She said maintaining her stout posture.

My dazed and flustered mind felt to discharge a surprised " Excuse me " as the sealed lips only and miserable produced an unintelligent grunt.

She spoke again with the same confidence and a newborn smile that fitted into the appalling features of the night.

" You'll find me at Brighton. "

The woman definitely had felt the rush of her mysticism since the dark outline of her body and the bounce of her shoulder slink hair trotted on the stairs without a proper explanation. And with a sudden urgency.

I didn't roll around the birth of such a strange event for too long even though it had prevailed at putting the though of your runaway off for some moments since the mind found new taste of questions. There was a letter stuck at the door handle of the driver's seat and it held the strong look of hers. It intrigued me slightly, that I would admit, but sadly, the interest depleted.

On my slow and awfully cautious drive back home, the balance of my soul had already been broken since the questions switched from you to her. The attention of it was heavily on you but I could not throw her away internally. She surely had mistaken me since I displayed the form of a melancholic man that I could tell a woman of such beautiful disposition was not looking for.

Despite my original intention to run the Red angry traffic light, I stopped since my vision was muddled by the sweat of my eyes.

The suicidal leap of the letter addressed me an invitation to open it as in the next long 45 seconds I had nothing better to do than be stationary and throw myself into the pit of your contemplation. The apparent hatred of a brooding betrayal was part of the reason too.

The letter was unexpectedly beautiful and unforeseenly surreal. Undoubtedly attractive since the shaken handwriting of the paragraphs suggested that the writer wrote it when she was still on her way. In a placid hurry.

The surprisingly pleasing words and characteristics of the invitation enforced my idea that it was not intended to me. But I was bound to ignore the car horn from behind since the light turned green.

I was dazzled to see my name on it.

I didn't know what to make of this.