Bus Rides Should Last Longer
How often do you recall hiding in-between forest green faux-leather seats,
cradling the existence of an unknown world in the palms of highschool hands
grasping for meaning in the minutes before bus stops?
Those were days spent in sunshine;
days that so readily wasted time and could not match responsibility.
Those days were ours;
mornings spent tracing stick figures in the cold condensation of bus windows and afternoons that left us wondering why the skies seemed bluer every afternoon when printed as a backdrop to yellow fields of corn and wheat.
You were just someone to talk to. You were just someone to sit by. You were simply someone to laugh with and smile at, someone with whom I would solely pretend… and you did pretend; pretend not to notice a quiet girl with brown hair, pretend not to share secrets and stories and make her fall in love.
Two years of twenty-minute intervals and I find myself left with so much more to say but the bus doors open, the schoolbell rings and the illusion shatters.