Parting is such sweet sorrow ... the fascinating real life

"You can write or read during the nearly five-hour train ride" the business thinker said as he graciously drove me to the train station.

Sounds logical. But, I don't read or write when on the train.  Rarely ever on the plane either.  Definitely nothing serious.  Perhaps I read a newspaper (no, not that newspaper.)

"I simply watch the landscape and the people.  Real life is fascinating" I told him.

This train ride was no exception.

A young woman stood on the platform wiping with her handkerchief the tears from her eyes.  When her hand was freed from the eyes, she blew kisses to the young man who was seated across from me, a row in between us.

We men do not have the luxury that females have when it comes to displaying emotions.  Women cry at airports and train stations and the world is ok with it.  If we men showed that kind of emotions, then even most women won't give us a second look!  We act tough only to attract the female kind!

It seemed that the young man was trying his best to keep the emotions under check.  He kept miming her to get going.  She continued with the air kisses.  He then texted her something--I think it was to her that he texted.  She looked down, which I assume was at her phone, and then looked up and smiled at him and blew kisses his way.

The train started moving.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she waved.
She walked with the train.
And then she jogged along.

That was the last I saw her.

The older I get, the more I feel troubled by the sight of a young woman in tears.  Perhaps I see my daughter in every young woman.  I am willing to bet that no normal father can watch even a minute of his daughter's cries.

The young man sat transfixed for a while.  I was tempted to go up to him and tell him it is all ok.  But then we are men.  I sat where I sat, and he sat where he sat.  If I had a son, would my reactions be different, I wonder.

Had I been reading, I would have missed out on all these.  I will any day bear witness to the Juliets blowing kisses to their Romeos.

But then there are moments when I am convinced that reading is a much better option.

Had I been reading, I would not have known about a middle-aged man who was digging boogers out of his nostril.  In the "executive class."  I suppose that too is real life.  A disgusting part of real life.  But then such disgusting acts make those partings all the sweeter.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.