Waiting For The Bus

Like every day I wait for the bus…Something that has to be done and yet is the bright spark of my day.

Every morning that I wait for the bus she is there. I was hit by her brilliance the moment I saw her, this happens often and is nothing too surprising. As time went by she began to notice me and we started talking. I couldn’t take my eyes from her.

Everything she was I loved. She had short brown hair, too short by some opinions.

Her fingernails were short yet the only thing more fascinating to me was the air that would come from her mouth on a cold morning.

Now I don’t know where she goes everyday and I don’t know her name, it never seemed like information I needed. I hope for the same reasons she never asked me. But as time goes on I SEE that to her I’m just a way to pass the time.

I never let this get me down.

She talked often of other boys in a way that a puppet master would shake and jolt toys in his control. Each time she describes the one she loves this week I fall apart, pieces of me that will never be found. In time people will ask why I am so faded and I will answer that I am fine but a girl many years ago took the main parts of my puzzle.

Light conversation spills out easily like a dripping tap never giving me enough water to drink from, but enough to know there is water there.

She tells me that she is leaving. Not the city or country, but just her job, a job that will take her on a different route. I felt lost.

Jack Frost has decided to lend me a hand. In the ice of the morning she pulls close to me as the conversation breaks. In that infinite second she can see everything I am. She knows that I think of her every day. She knows that if in the many words I speak I could only say be mine I could rest. She knows that I am struck down by love a little too easy and that gives me the sadness in my eyes.

As quickly as this infinite moment begins it is snatched away. Our carriage has arrived in a ploom of smoke that chokes my breathing nearly as much as that moment choked my heart.

As she smiles and moves away from me I can feel the moment, like the ones that have passed every work day for the past year slipping away. I am frantic. I need to say something in this moment, this vital moment. I move quickly to catch her as she turns quickly catching me by surprise.

I have seen your sorrow. I have spoken to you for so long and yet I never got close enough to see that you are missing. I am not the piece to your puzzle but someone will be.

It has taken me this long to see what’s inside.

And I pray that some day we will meet again.

Just look for me to the west of the sunrise.

And if the time is right, you’ll never know