Metro love

I take the train these days to and from work. During this hour, I usually sleep, read or look out the window.

I've come to cherish my rides. It's one of those quiet, reflective moments of the day. I especially love the train ride home when I get to see my favorite couple.

I don't know who these two lovers are, but I always see them out my window, re-uniting each day. I got to sit next to the woman during one of my recent rides. She is older, maybe in her late forties, with dark hair pulled back into an unassuming bun. She does not wear jewelry, only a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. She wears floral, long skirts and for some reason, exudes a very quiet and gentle spirit. She has a black, worn-down backpack, from which she pulls out a denim-fabric book that has faded golden letters that read "La Santa Biblia." She reads Isaías the whole ride home.

He, an older Hispanic man, without fail, is at the train stop, waiting for her every single day. When the woman gets off, his whole face brightens with a smile, and so does hers. He, about a foot taller than the woman, then kisses her on the forehead, takes her backpack off her shoulders and swings it over one of his, gently takes her hand into his, and they walk together to their black sedan as if they've been re-united after not having seen each other for years.

I want to thank them for making me die a little everyday. It's a simple, tender moment of love that makes me believe that there is so much good in this world.