On my train ride home,
a cat stares back at me from a distant window
—a big, fluffy calico that reminds me of my first foster cat
when I was nine.
He’s always in the same window,
and on the days he’s not
I try to decide if he’s gone altogether
or just for today.

We pass a house on the left
where there’s a family gathered around the dinner table
and each face looks exactly like my family
in 2008.
The mother and father still talk about their days
with genuine smiles.
The daughter and son are bright-eyed
and unaware of how quickly this time will pass. 

Up on the right,
a stuffed dog sits diligently on a windowsill,
gazing out at me with beaded black eyes
that hold more feeling than they should be able to.
It has been there every day
for the last two years.
Untouched, perhaps unloved,
but never unnoticed.

Two stops before mine,
a young couple gets on.
An old one gets off.
They’re both holding hands
through the hustle and bustle of rush hour crowds.
I hope they never let go.

A woman across the aisle from me
checks her phone and smiles.
The man at the other end of the car
checks his and frowns.

There are silhouettes slow-dancing in gold-lit windows
to the song that will either be the first dance at their wedding,
or the tune that will haunt them both for years to come.
There are friends skipping down the street
laughing over an inside joke that’s been told a hundred times.
It will either be told a hundred more times
or it will die out and fade away until there’s no one
left to understand why it’s funny.

Down below,
I watch a black lab cross the road
and stop to sniff a bulldog.
Their owners pull them away and smile at one another.
They will never interact again.

I know this route intimately,
like the back of my hand
or the inside of my soul.
I can point out people and places and hidden secrets
along the brown line from Fullerton to Adams/Wabash
and back again,
like landmarks or monuments—
an all-inclusive tour of the things everyone sees
but never looks for.

Let me paint you a picture,
sing you a song,
write you a book
composed only of the things
I’ve taken time to notice over the years.
A patchwork quilt of city windows and streets,
of moments others have long forgotten
but that will stay in my mind forever.

The world has secrets
but it doesn’t keep them hidden.
They’re left in plain sight
if you notice and listen.