Pile of people, family, incomplete, the tuba, we, desperate listening to it- and to each others heartbeats, feel my head on your back? I rest on you and spread my fingers that feel so very webbed on you. You carry my sorrow for some moments like this until our train arrives and I separate myself from you and we leave the tuba man behind. You say that felt good. When I ask how, you say my head felt good "like this," and you take your little hand and graze over mine to show me, and I realize how little you need from me.