I look the wrong way on the train platform to see the contrails left by jets burning incandescently in the dawn sky. I look for so long that other commuters waiting on the platform turn their heads to see what I am staring at. Finding nothing unusual, they turn their puzzled gazes back to me. I look at a beautiful boy perched on a wall next to the barbed wire, sipping a cup of coffee and flicking his ashes over the other side. I look at the steam rising off the countryside slipping past as the sun hits the dewy grass. I look at the neck of a woman with her hair pinned up and her head bent over a book. I look at three balding men on a bench, none of whom know each other, running their hands absentmindedly over their heads in the same ruminating way. I see these things and I feel momentarily paralyzed by their beauty. The feeling shoots down into me and I think, oh. I am unable to move my hands. In that moment I am grateful to be alive. It is enough.