Handsome him

I remember him. I was on the train like any other morning on my way to work in Rondebosch, lost in my usual thoughts. Then that #DearBlackMan ruined everything. He was the most handsome man possible. I did not stand a chance.
Not a chance to stay calm, not a chance to forget I saw him. Not a chance to pretend I did not see him as I effortlessly often did.

His clothes were different shades of perfect formal grey, each item as if made by the best tailor just for him. I thought I was in a movie only I was completely underdressed for my part. I forgot how to stand or the station I was getting off. So I got off the wrong station only to get back inside again, feeling like a complete fool. Now that I think about it, what was it about him because ordinarily, handsome men can be handsome all they like, they just do not make me nervous but o, this man totally did. It must have been the manner he stood inside of his silver skin like he was standing on top of the world, as if the world was perfect. It must have been that he knew that he was brilliant in every way. Or perhaps the way he did not apologise for all that was admirable about him. The way he commanded to be seen without demanding it by his very presence. He seemed like a whole, perfect man though there surely can be no perfect people. I have no idea who he was but o, that man made me lose all my cool. Of course, I think he looked back at me but what are the chances really?
I could not look back, not after getting off the wrong station. 


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