you hugged me

You hugged me at the tube station, pressed your lips against my right cheek and held me there for an in-between amount of time – neither short and casual, nor lingering and profound. We part and I look into your face with my confused eyes. All at once I want to run. I want to unvelcro myself from your presence and not look back as I sprint, breathless, down the Westbound platform. All at once I need you to remain. I need to hold my gaze firmly on your face, take hold of your left hand and entwine my fingers in yours and squeeze. No dialogue. No jinxed words. Just a touch. You can say more in one hand gesture than in an entire novel. I do none of these things. Instead I bow to convention, legs and hands immobile as the Northern line. My hair lifts up from the bottom of my skull and I feel the rush of air chasing down the platform. The squeaking of mouse on metal and a rumbling. Vibration tickling my feet like a foot spa.
‘I’m going to run to get this train,’ I say.
You nod. I turn and walk towards the irony that is loneliness on an overcrowded train.
I don’t look back.
Instead I hold onto the roof strap, and bite my lip like my great aunt Maggie drinks tea, steadily.