A new story

A new story,
I'm running late,
coffee in my hand,
my phone's busy.

I jump, I stumble,
run to the train.
The 7 o' clock,
I cannot miss it.

At the door,
an old lady steps out,
wrinkled and slow.
Impatient, I shout.

The lady smiles,
new lines form
her face softens,
makes me squirm.

I hop aboard,
the lady's still there,
waits for someone,
from somewhere.

The train moves on,
the editor calls,
“Where's your story?”
He gets no response.

I rest my head,
close my eyes,
I see the lady,
a new story.

- Eisha