The Ticket Folded Into Four

The café where we hid from sudden rain

Has changed its chairs and cleared the picture wall;

I went inside and felt a small, sharp pain

To see the world had carried on at all.

I found the ticket from our midnight train,

The one you folded neatly into four;

I still can see us in the windowpane

And hear you laughing by the carriage door.

We were not always gentle; that was true,

Some nights we couldn't find a thing to say;

But there were nights I felt at home with you,

And both remain, though we have walked away.

The ticket sits inside a kitchen drawer,

Its faded ink the palest shade of blue;

Nobody checks its number anymore,

It only says: I once came home with you.