I want to get on a train with you. And I want sit in one of those spots where the seats face each other, the kind where I can rest my boot clad feet on the seat next you while we look at each other and I’m smiling because your company makes me giddy. We’d bring a bottle of liquor (or wine), it’s not the most romantic, but I don’t care. We would sit across form one another taking pulls off the bottle, watching the countryside pass by, and making random conversation about unimportant things spotted with bits of banter about things that meant something. Maybe I’d move over to the seat next to you to rest my head on your shoulder in repose as drink creeps through my veins just slowly enough to render apprehension useless. I’m not sure where the train would be going, maybe Bruges, but maybe you’d put my hand in yours until we got there.